Rory Goes to Washington
by Amber1701
Summary: It's 9 years later, and Rory is moving on to what could be the height of her career. Is she ready? Her past, present and future collide with dazzling results. Inspired by the buzz around the new episodes ordered by Netflix. Changed to a mature rating for language, and for future adult scenes.
1. Her voice, her eyes

_**A/N: This was inspired by all of the recent buzz about the upcoming new episodes/short movies as ordered by Netflix. An entertainment commentator on my local news channel was an avid watcher of the original series, and speculated the other morning about what the past 9 years have been like for the residents of Stars Hollow. Considering Rory's seemingly unending ambition, she jokingly said "What's next? Is she going to be the US Press Secretary?" This is my idea of what that might look like, along with a few things I'd like to have happen as well (in the perfect Gilmore Girls world in my head).**_

 _ **Let me know in the comments if you'd like to see how this plays out, or if it's just a silly idea.**_

 **Chapter 1 – Her voice, her eyes**

He closed his eyes briefly, pushing his new reading glasses up and pinching the bridge of his nose. God, these financial statements would be the death of him someday. Probably someday soon, he thought with a snort. This was definitely his least favourite part of doing business, which was probably why he was up so late going over the numbers from last quarter.

Scratch that, it was actually early by now. He swore silently at the alarm clock beside his bed.

Success was great, but it just meant more monitoring, more oversight, more details to watch for. The figures on the stack of printed pages swam before his eyes. Coffee. He needed coffee; with maybe a shot of booze in it. Except he wasn't doing that anymore; drinking, that is. It always just got him into trouble, so he had sworn off it, again. Maybe it would stick this time.

As he walked out to the kitchen, he switched on the TV across from the end of his bed. It was foolish to hope the constant noise would keep him alert for long enough to finish, but he was desperate. He had no plans in the morning, so sleeping in wasn't a problem. He just needed to get this done. Then he could crash and ignore the world for a few hours.

He returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug and a cereal bar. The flat screen was tuned to CNN, of course, even though he hadn't turned it on in a couple of days. He tried to tell himself that it was only natural to be interested in world events, but anyone who knew him well knew it was because of her. It had become a bit of an obsession for him since she started as a correspondent over two years ago.

He could still remember the morning he heard her voice over the sizzle of his breakfast bacon cooking. She was talking about the political fallout of the embassy attack in Benghazi, but she could have been reciting the phone book for all his heart cared. It seized up in his chest as the surprise and shock reverberated through his body.

That voice.

It drew him into the living room, his breakfast forgotten and blackening on the stove. And then there she was, looking directly at the camera, her blue eyes flashing. Her appearance shouldn't have affected him that much, after all those years. But he still equated her with his version of perfection, the unattainable siren disguised as a proper, driven career woman.

After that morning, he found himself watching CNN more often than not, unconsciously waiting to see and hear her again. She wasn't on camera that frequently, supplementing her on-air time with writing for other reporters and for various papers and magazines. Even if she wasn't credited in the byline, he could still recognize her voice in the words. Her writing was like listening to your favourite band: you could tell it was them, simply by the style and sound, even if you'd never heard the song before. He loved her writing. Hell, he'd loved it since he first read a paper of hers in school. It was just like her; hopeful, naïve but pragmatic, with a hint of wacky humour.

He shook his head at his own stupidity and returned to the spreadsheets fanned across his lap. He heard about snippets of her life, of course, running in similar circles as they did. He could have sought her out, easily and clandestinely if he really wanted to, but there was still a shred of pride left in his chest. He hadn't seen or spoken to her since she walked away, since they walked away from each other. It was in the past, which was how it should be – even if it had never really felt finished.

He reached blindly for his coffee, the liquid scalding his tongue on its pathway down. She'd gotten him hooked on it, a long time ago. It seemed easier at the time to just go along with her unhealthy addiction rather than try to break her of it. And after they were over, he'd just continued drinking the stuff, though never in the quantity that she and her crazy mother did.

Something in the columns of numbers caught his attention, and he circled it quickly. The sales numbers were off for those three days – another detail to look at next week at the management meeting. He continued on to the next page, slowly working his way through the pile of papers over the next hour. He stopped briefly to take a few bites of the cereal bar and sip from his now lukewarm coffee.

Ugh. Sacrilege. Coffee had to be hot, or it had to be poured down the drain. No exceptions.

He flipped to the final month of financial tables, and sighed heavily. He was never procrastinating about reviewing these, ever again; at least not until next month, when they would get buried on his desk until the last possible moment.

He bent closer, comparing the totals from the previous three months and the prior fiscal year. The numbers were up, but not as much as predicted. His pen was poised to underline the underwhelming dollar amount when an announcement caught his attention.

Or rather, a name caused his pen to skid across the paper, leaving a bright red line from left to right.

He focused on the screen, watching the intervening commercial and willing the talking head to reappear and either confirm or deny his heart palpitation.

"In other news, there's been a shakeup at the White House. President Obama is rumoured to be making an announcement today about his new Press Secretary. As you'll remember, John Christensen stepped down unexpectedly last month amid rumours of health problems. It gives us great pleasure, however, to tell you that a member of our own CNN team is next in line for the prestigious position."

His eyes were like saucers as the network flashed her headshot across the screen, followed slowly by candid shots and video stills representing the many stages of her career.

"That's right Morgan. Our own political correspondent, Rory Gilmore, will be joining the ranks at the White House. She is the youngest appointee in recent memory, and will bring with her a wealth of experience in both journalism writing, editing and political coverage."

The photo montage continued. A screen capture of her recent report on the US-led incursions into Syria was followed by a shot of her at her desk in the newsroom, her head bent over line-edited copy that was swimming in red corrections.

The male commentator came back on the screen, the slideshow moving to a small inset window over his left shoulder.

"Rory is Yale educated, and followed President Obama on the campaign trail before his first term in office, writing for an online magazine. Following that she wrote for several large newspapers, earning a spot in the White House Press Corps at the age of 25. As you know Sidney, she started with us a little over two years ago, and has been covering the hottest, most controversial political stories ever since."

The feed suddenly cut to a snippet of Rory reporting from outside Joe Biden's house earlier in the summer, unshed tears twinkling in her turquoise eyes.

"Some may want to use these tragic events as a political leg up, and they would be right in assuming that any major event can shake a politician, a party, a nation. However, I would remind you that no parent ever thinks they will bury their child. His position as the Vice President aside, today we should keep in our minds that Mr. Biden is a father, a family man, a red-blooded American and a human being. And today, his heart is breaking. Our hearts break with you, sir. From Washington, I'm Rory Gilmore for CNN."

God, he remembered that report; remembered feeling a lump in his throat when her voice quivered as she signed off.

"Rory has been a valued member of the CNN team, and I'm privileged to call her a personal friend. Good luck in the West Wing, Rory. We will miss you."

"Indeed Morgan. Good luck and best wishes, Rory. And try to go easy on our reporters when you face them across the podium. In other news, a 6.5 magnitude earthquake has rocked northern Afghanistan…"

He tuned out the rest of the headlines, concentrating on his beating heart and trembling fingers.

She'd done it. Holy Mother of God, she'd really done it. This was quite possibly the pinnacle of Rory's career, and he couldn't be happier for her. As the ex-boyfriend, he supposed he was probably entitled to a little wallowing, a smidgen of self-pity. She'd always been miles ahead of everyone else, especially him. No matter his successes, she would always be out in front – right where she belonged. But he could never be jealous of her. She was always destined for greatness; everyone around her could sense it.

He finished with the financial statements and set them aside, letting his head fall back against the headboard. The TV was still making noise in the background, and while he knew he should be giving his exhausted body what it wanted, he just couldn't fall asleep quite yet. He wasn't even going to lie to himself about it. His chest was still burning with excitement and pride and a bunch of other emotions he wasn't going to name. All he wanted was to see the story again.

Finally, the headlines looped back around and the announcement was made again, this time without the personal commentary. There were a few new pictures in the video segment, including one he'd never seen of her sitting in the front row at a campaign speech just before the 2008 election. Her pen was poised on her note pad, her long legs crossed demurely under a black pencil skirt. But what always killed him were those eyes. They were smart, sharp, never missing a detail. And he could easily drown in them.

When the program again turned to other world events, he shut the TV off.

He wanted to do something, something to acknowledge her amazing accomplishment. Her family would be jumping for joy and hiring skywriters to proclaim their glee, he was sure. They were all just crazy enough to pull something like that. And even though he was sure she would soon be overrun with congratulations, he couldn't suppress his desire to put his own two cents in.

The question was, how could he contact her? He had a favour he could call in, but it would be awkward. Things always were when it came to them and their past connections. And really, should he bother? They seemed to have been living under an unwritten, no-contact rule these past nine years, and he wasn't sure how she'd react if he broke it. Still, this was a momentous occasion, deserving of a little rule-breaking. He had always been good at convincing her to break the rules.

His mouth turned up in a smirk and he glanced again at the clock: 4:15am. Too early for most, but he'd be up. It was a Tuesday. He would definitely be up. His phone was in his hand before he could even really form the intent. And then it was ringing, and there was no turning back.

"Yeah?" came the gruff answer, clearly surprised to hear the phone ringing this early.

His stomach dropped into his feet, and he swallowed dryly before forcing the words out.

"Hey, Uncle Luke. I need an address…"


	2. Give me an R!

**A/N: Thanks SO much to all of you for your kind reviews. Sorry for tricking some people into thinking that it was Logan in Chapter 1, but I think the mystery is always so much more fun. I know I love being surprised by twists and turns in things that I read. And now we get to find out what Jess wrote to Rory… Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters.**

 **Chapter 2 – Give me an R!**

Twenty-four hours later, Rory was still flying high, and running flat out. There was so much to do before she transitioned over to the White House; so much to tie up at the job she was leaving, so much to read and absorb before her first day.

Add to that all of the security clearance hassle, and her nerves were officially fried. There was nothing like being interviewed by the Secret Service for almost two solid days to put you behind in your work. She understood the need for security in this day and age, but some of the questions they'd asked her seemed ludicrous.

" _How well do you understand the political affiliations of Emily Gilmore?"_

" _She's a big fan of capitalism, but other than that, we've never discussed it."_

" _What about your connections to the Daughters of the American Revolution?"_

" _Considering I haven't been an active member in over a decade, I don't really have any connection at all."_

" _But you are still a member?"_

" _Well, yes, but only because my grandmother is, so I'm kind of a legacy member."_

" _I see. How much do you associate with the Huntzbergers?"_

" _As little as possible, preferably not at all."_

" _Your relationship with the family…"_

" _My_ _ **former**_ _relationship."_

" _Yes, well, be that as it may, Mitchum's recent indictment for embezzlement and tax fraud has made the administration nervous."_

" _There's nothing to be nervous about."_

" _So you don't associate with them?"_

" _I occasionally see them from across the room at industry events, but I haven't spoken to Logan, or any of his family, in nearly a decade."_

" _Very well. There's a notation on your police record that has been expunged. Please describe the circumstances around that incident."_

THAT had taken some serious explanation. It still gave her butterflies to think that a stupid mistake she'd made in college could have killed her chances at the best job she'd ever gone after. A giant, stupid mistake.

Rory groaned and gulped at her coffee. That was the past, and she was definitely moving forward, sometimes faster than she was really comfortable with. She would have been happy to stay at CNN for the foreseeable future, but when the President offered you a job, you didn't say no.

And really, even if it turned out to be horrible, the position had an expiration date. There was just over one year left in Obama's second term, and his replacement would likely clear house when they took over. It wouldn't matter how well she performed, or if the president-elect was a Democrat or a Republican. She would be let go in approximately 18 months either way, so she had decided to look at this as the best temp job in the world.

A knock on the door shook her out of her musings. Her assistant Kent, an immeasurable help and aspiring sci-fi writer, pushed the door open with his foot.

"Hey, I have some stuff for you."

The "stuff" preceded him inside: a ridiculous, hot pink gift basket wrapped in cellophane. From her seat at her desk, she could see packages of red vines and gummy worms peeking out from behind the big, pink bow tying the whole thing together.

"Another congratulatory gift from Lorelai."

Rory shook her head, impressed by the sheer size of it, but not at all surprised.

"Put it next to the remains of the fruit bouquet over there."

Kent laughed as he pushed aside the skewers of strawberries and cantaloupe.

"Why would she send you a fruit basket anyways? She must have known you would only eat the chocolate flowers." Oh, how well he knew her.

She giggled and rolled her eyes.

"That was a gag gift. The one you're holding is the real present. And I'll bet that the box of mallomars is already open."

Ken pried the cellophane apart far enough to pull the package out.

"Son of a…. How did you know?"

Rory laughed again. "That's my mom. She clearly packed it up herself."

"The card says to call her when you get a chance."

"Is there time in my schedule today?" She made a face and sighed dramatically when Kent just shook his head. "And why do I bother asking?"

Kent's head kept shaking in the negative, as he had for the past two weeks. Her calendar was perpetually full ever since giving her director the news that she might be leaving. The network was definitely going to get its money's worth before she moved on.

"What do I have at 9:30?"

"You're due in editing to finish off your piece on the Iran nuke deal."

"Ok, push it back. I'll call her now. Mike is never on time anyway."

She met his incredulous look with a level stare. "What? I haven't spoken to my mom in almost two weeks! What are they going to do, fire me?"

He laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "Ok. I'll run interference when your call runs long, as we all know it will."

They nodded together in mutual understanding.

"Oh, here's your mail." He took a bundle of letters from under his arm, and then turned to leave.

"Kent?"

He swiveled back, already mentally adjusting her schedule to accommodate a Lorelai phone call. It was incredible how much the two could fit into a "short" conversation.

"I finished reading your chapters."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You did? How did you find time? You've been so busy lately, and…"

"I promised you I would, so I did. And I have to say, I'm seeing improvement."

Kent blushed at the praise. "You think so?"

"Yep. You've got real promise. Space adventure isn't really my thing, but your writing is very strong. If you put in the work, I think you'll really have something when you're finished."

"Wow! Thanks Rory, that's great. Thanks so much."

His excitement was so endearing. She was glad she'd stayed up to finish it last night.

"No problem. When you've got a finished manuscript, let me know. I have some contacts that might be interested in looking at it."

Kent floated out of her office, dreaming about his name on a book cover. When the door shut behind him, she picked up the phone and dialled the long distance number from memory.

"Dragonfly Inn, Lorelai speaking."

"Hi mom. Thanks for the pantry staples. I'm really looking forward to those mallomars, at least the ones you didn't eat yourself."

"Loin fruit! I couldn't help eating a few - they were taunting me! How is my brilliant political strategist?"

"Neither brilliant nor a political strategist, ironically."

"Oh pish. My daughter is going to be running the White House. I can say whatever I like."

"Nope, wrong again on both counts. And since I'm probably being monitored by the Secret Service 24/7 at this point, you might want to be more careful about saying whatever you like."

Lorelai gasped. "Monitoring you? You mean like listening to your phone calls? Is that even constitutional?..."

As her mother's voice ramped up, Rory tucked the phone against her shoulder and started flipping through the stack of mail Kent had left on her desk. There were the usual, anonymous corporate envelopes: invitations to conferences, advertisements for travel and credit cards and such.

"Rory, honey. Are you listening to me? I have a whole Big Brother rant going here, and I don't feel like you're paying attention."

"Yes, I'm with you mom. Orwell is rolling in his grave. You should be able to mock the newspeak anytime you like. More power to you, saboteur sister."

She absently clucked her tongue as Lorelai started back into full high-horse mode. There was nothing of interest in the regular mail, so she moved those letters aside. Then there was the fan mail, which she had never really gotten used to. Especially when Kirk had started sending her pictures of him and Lulu, watching her reports on TV. At least he wasn't naked in the photos; she supposed she should be grateful for small favours.

"I mean, what's next? Are they going to put a black bag over your head so that you won't be able to see their secret tunnels in and out of the White House?"

"Mom, it's the White House. It's not Gitmo. I'm pretty sure I can use the employee entrance."

"Don't they have those full body scan machines at the doors now? Like, those ones where they can see if your bra has an underwire? Do they probe your body cavities for contraband?"

Rory didn't miss a beat. "Hehe. Dirty."

"Seriously honey, should I be writing a letter to my Senator?"

"Again, it's the White House, not Litchfield. It will be fine. And no, please don't. I don't think Mr. Blumenthal will understand the Darryl Revok references, no matter how much of a cinephile his wife is."

Towards the bottom of the stack was a larger, square white envelope. The paper felt expensive, heavy, and the only markings were her name and address on a printed label; no stamp, postmark or return address. Interesting. It must have come by courier.

She turned the envelope over in her hands as her mother wound down.

"I know they're supposed to be protecting you, honey, but if they try to muzzle me, I'll have to go big bad wolf on piggy."

"That was the worst mixed literary reference I've ever heard. And I've edited more pages than I can count, so you know I'm serious."

"Don't I at least get points for working in a nursery rhyme that should terrify children, of both wolves and natural disasters?"

Rory sliced cleanly through the envelope with her letter opener.

"You should get negative points. I should take some of your accumulated points away, it was so bad. You're now in the red by 25. I'll notify Gino the bookie that Lorelai Gilmore is blacklisted."

"Ok fine, be cranky. And if you're looking for Gino, you should know he's working out of Al's Pancake World now."

"Well, he has the best international selection. I'm sure Gino appreciates that."

"Indeed, although Nucky burning down his office after that horrible feud probably had more to do with it."

"So is he making bets out of the kitchen?"

"No, the walk-in freezer. He's icing the competition."

Rory groaned. "That was awful. And you tarnished a delightful piece of HBO goodness to do it. I haven't even finished the final season on Neflix!"

"You threw it over the plate. I had to swing."

"Seriously Mom? Sporting references? You and Luke have been married too long."

"Or not long enough." Lorelai sighed for effect. "But seriously, I worry sometimes. This new job is much higher profile, and you seem to attract the crazies."

"You mean Kirk?"

"Well, yes. But he's a different sort of crazy. More of a tin-foil-hat-living-in-his-mother's-basement crazy."

"Now there's someone the Secret Service should be monitoring!" Rory shook her head at the image of Kirk being interrogated.

"I meant those letters you were getting last year. I know you brushed it off, but I could tell they scared you a little."

"It wasn't anything to worry about. The security team here did an assessment and didn't feel there was anything substantiated."

Despite her bravado, Rory peeked into the envelope before reaching inside. Just plain, white folded stationery. Phew.

"Fine, but if you get a protection detail, see if they can find you someone that looks like Kevin Costner. He has lots of experience."

"I'll see what I can do." Rory rolled her eyes again. She really needed to hide that copy of _The Bodyguard_ the next time she went home.

"So, are you gonna do something crazy with your first big paycheque? Buy a new car, maybe? Or dye your hair pink again? That was great, by the way, despite what I may have said at the time. I totally didn't mean that Rainbow Brite comment, unless you like that sort of thing. In which case, it was super rainbow AWESOME."

"My former, rebellious, collegiate- self thanks you. But I'm pretty sure Denis McDonough would frown on it if I showed up for my first day looking like I represent disenfranchised tween girls."

Lorelai snorted. "I'll bet Michelle and _her_ girls would like it."

Rory giggled, visualizing the looks she would get from the Press Corps, then imagining high-fiving Malia and Sasha behind the Chief's back. Hilarious.

"And how's the house hunt coming? I know they said they'd hook you up with a realtor for a lease, but aren't you cutting it close with only a couple of weeks to go?"

"I haven't been able to get away to go looking yet. But as soon as I do, you'll be my first call. I'm definitely going to need a second opinion. Once I see that a place has bookcases, I just stop looking."

She unfolded the single, stiff sheet of paper and was struck dumb by the bold, black script.

"Oh my god," she whispered, more to herself than anything.

Lorelai actually paused at that, long enough to take a breath at least. But Rory couldn't say a word. She was too busy trying to make sure her heart was still in her chest and hadn't thumped its way out of her 8th floor window onto the streets of Atlanta.

"You ok kid?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just got distracted by some email. I've gotta run. I'll call you when I hear from the realtor, if you can stand being seen in the company of someone with a green mohawk and neck tattoos."

"I knew my favourite daughter would do something epic to commemorate this move up the corporate ladder! Just don't forget the stud through your nose. I hear that's very popular with young up-and-comers in Washington; fits in well with Obama's new relaxed White House dress code."

Rory laughed in spite of herself, still staring at the note in her hand like it was on fire.

"Bye mom."

She put the handset down in a daze, still not quite able to believe what she was holding. She'd recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Jess.

Indecipherable to almost everyone, the bold hand was at definite odds with the smooth, luxury paper. She'd never thought him the type to own fancy stationery, but then she didn't really know him anymore did she? It took a moment for her to see past the physical structure of the writing and focus on the words themselves.

 _Rory,_

 _I don't know what to say except congratulations, but that word doesn't seem remotely large enough to express what I'm really thinking. How's this? My inner cheerleader is doing backflips in honour of your remarkable accomplishment._

 _Pretty good right? I'm a professional writer and everything._

 _Seriously though, I'm so happy for you, so completely over the moon excited that I'm lost for words – and that's really saying something._

 _I won't say good luck because you don't need it. You were destined for this, we both know it._

 _-Jess_

She folded the note and held it to her chest, even while thinking that the action was silly.

God, Jess.

She hadn't seen him in years. They always seemed to miss each other at Thanksgiving and Christmas, not that she was able to go home all that often. She still thought about him every now and then, and listened closely whenever he came up in conversation. Occasionally Luke would slip and mention his name, but he was always so awkward about it that she never pressed the issue.

She had followed him; well, his writing career at least. After _The Subsect,_ it was two years before his sophomore work came out. _City Essence_ had been another independent press project with Truncheon, but was more easily found in the small shops. Then, more recently, he had written a trilogy: _Dawn in Hell's Kitchen, Rain of Greenwich,_ and _Dark Queen Village Night._ Thanks to a long book tour and the occasional morning show appearance, the books had gotten a mainstream, wide release and seemed to have a permanent place on best-seller walls everywhere. She'd read them all at least a hundred times, but _Subsect_ was still her favourite.

Jess.

Of all the people who could have said congratulations, his sentiment meant the most, at least to her. She wondered briefly where he'd been when he heard the news. Had Luke told him, or did he see the announcement on the news or in a paper? Did he even watch the news? She remembered he hadn't been one for much TV, so it was doubtful.

Her desk phone squawked before she could get swept away by too many memories.

"Rory? Editing. Go go go."

"Shoot!" she yelled at no one, carefully slipping the note and envelope into her desk drawer before grabbing her coffee mug and notebook and rushing out the door.

 **References – for those that are interested:**

 **George Orwell and his must-read books** _ **1984**_ **and** _ **Lord of the Flies**_ _._ **Seriously, if you haven't read them, you need to. Immediately. Go ahead, I'll wait.**

 **Litchfield – the fictional prison of Orange Is The New Black.**

 **Darryl Revok – character from sci-fi cult classic movie** _ **Scanners**_ **(1981).**

 **Nucky Thompson – main character from HBO's hit show** _ **Boardwalk Empire**_ **, about gangs and prohibition in Atlantic City.**

 _ **The Bodyguard**_ **– 1992 movie with Kevin Costner, playing a not-too-convincing former Secret Service Agent, protecting Whitney Houston, who plays a pop-star loosely based on herself, also played not-too-convincingly!**


	3. The big White House elephant in the room

**A/N: I'm so glad people are enjoying this story. I'm definitely having fun writing it. This is a little more setup, a little more back story. Don't worry, we're getting close to some genuine interaction for our anticipated couple. But being pen pals is some of the best foreplay around.**

 _ **DrewSaywer:**_ **Thanks especially to you for your kind reviews. They are food for the writer's soul!**

 **Chapter 3 – The big White House elephant in the room**

"What do you have in these boxes? Bricks? Bags of cement? The bodies of your rivals?"

Rory rolled her eyes and took the box from her mother.

"You've helped me move several times. Surely you recognize a box of books when you lift it?"

"Are you sure? You really went through a Dexter phase for a while there. It could be decapitated heads or something."

"No, I moved _those_ boxes yesterday in my own car. You can't be too careful with murder trophies these days." Rory laughed and stacked the carton on top of the others in the corner of the living room.

At the sound of grumbling and a door banging against the wall, they both turned. Luke was struggling to move a dresser across the floor in her bedroom.

"Hey Diner Man! I said I'd be there in a minute to help you." Lorelai jogged down the short hallway and took the other side of the long chest of drawers. "I know you think you're Superman, but you're no good to me injured, you know. I'd have to call someone off the bench for tonight, and they'd need considerable warm-up time."

"Dirty!" Rory called from the other room.

Luke set the dresser down suddenly, narrowly missing his toes.

"Aw geez you guys!" Even though he'd been an official part of the family for more than seven years, and unofficially for another decade or two before that, the two of them could still make him blush like a school boy.

"I jest, of course," Lorelai added, patting her husband on the cheek and brushing a kiss across his lips. "Considering the cost of your contract, I can't afford some rookie to relieve you."

He just muttered under his breath and moved into the bathroom to fix the towel bar, taking his toolbox with him.

"Oh Bert, how I've missed you!" Rory joined her mother in the bedroom, and they both flopped backwards onto the king-size bed.

"No, didn't you see? Bert has been replaced!"

Rory's eyes popped open, but she didn't have the strength to lift her head. "Seriously?"

Lorelai nodded next to her on the other pillow.

"Yes, sadly Bert suffered an irreparable handle failure, and so we had to put him down."

"Oh no! How sad."

"There was a small ceremony. Babette hosted the wake, and Miss Patty sang, of course."

"Of course."

"And even though our hearts were aching, insensitive Lukey insisted we go out and find a replacement immediately."

Rory gasped. "So soon?"

"Yes. My husband has no feelings whatsoever. I suggested we adopt. You know, to make sure an unloved tool box found its forever home. Kirk even offered to help us find a match."

"Kirk?"

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Yes, that's his newest business venture. Personalized adoption services, for people, pets AND tool boxes."

Rory visibly shuddered at the thought.

"Exactly. But the adoption idea was a good one! Luke didn't think so, however, because he just went ahead and purchased one."

"That's awful!" Rory blew a raspberry at Luke, or at least the doorway they could hear Luke muttering through.

"It's not Fido, for pete's sake! I needed a new toolbox, so I bought one. End of story."

Both mother and daughter giggled. Rory knew they were really getting to him when he started defending himself against their ridiculous accusations. It had been too long since they'd all been together like this.

Lorelai's voice grew louder in mock indignation. "And not only did he replace Bert without a second thought, his new toolbox looks EXACTLY THE SAME!"

"NO!" Rory couldn't help adding to the fire.

"Yes. That's the way men deal with loss, apparently. They just get an identical replacement, so they don't really miss the old one."

"Shocking! To think that he could just replace someone as handy as Bert!"

Luke came back into the room, brushing off his hands. "The old one worked and fit all my tools, it was just broken. Why try to find a different one when the old one was perfectly fine?"

Lorelai sat up swiftly and fixed him with a deadly stare.

"Are you saying if I died tomorrow, you'd replace me with my doppelganger?"

"Your what?!" Luke asked with a snort.

"Her double. Her twin sister from another mother. C'mon Luke! We all have a twin walking the earth somewhere, leading a totally different life," Rory patiently explained. She hadn't had this much fun in ages. Luke was verging on flabbergasted, which was immensely entertaining.

Her mother's eyebrows raised. "Now THERE's a thought. I don't need a rookie after all. I just need to find the _other_ Luke that's wandering around, lost and confused without me. Then I'd have back up for whenever my Luke needs a day off. Do you suppose he's a prince, or a sultan or something?"

Luke's head was ready to explode. "Hey! Wait just a minute…"

Rory sat up too, not wanting to miss where this argument was going. "No, not a prince. I think our doppelganger looks just like us, but is opposite to us in every other way. So what would that make alternate-reality Luke?"

"A fashion designer?" Lorelai giggled loudly, risking a glance at her husband's reddening face.

Rory's excitement finally burst through her exhaustion, and she rose up to her knees on the bed.

"NO! He'd be someone who likes chatting with people, and who values appearance and public perception above all else!"

Lorelai's head whipped around to her daughter, her eyes twinkling and waiting for the punch line.

"He'd be a politician!"

"YES!" Lorelai squealed.

Luke's head fell forward in defeat. "Oh my god."

Rory continued as if she hadn't heard him. "He might be right here in DC! Maybe I'll meet him!"

"Tell him about my plan to swap out my Luke with doppelganger Luke! See if he's on board. It's a good deal for him, really. Everyone loves the relief pitcher."

"Seriously Mom, more baseball allusions? Do we need to have the talk again?"

Lorelai's laughter faded away as she scrambled off the bed and chased after Luke's retreating back.

Rory lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar pattern of voices. She was so happy to be living closer to home again. CNN had been a great opportunity, but Atlanta was just too far away from her family. She needed regular doses of Stars Hollow crazy to stay sane - how nuts was that?

Chuckling to herself, she got up in search of her purse and more importantly, her phone. She had to check her saved messages for the instructions on where to park for her first day. Or maybe she'd just take the bus in the morning. People did that in DC, didn't they? She would even consider walking if the weather wasn't so horrible.

Rory stopped short when she caught a glimpse of her mom and Luke with their arms around each other in her tiny kitchen.

"You know I could never replace you Lorelai, even if the person looked exactly like you." Luke's voice was rough with emotion, and Rory secretly smiled.

Her mother sighed and wound her arms around Luke's neck.

"I know sweetie. And I could never replace you either. You're my one and only. My designated hitter, if you will."

Luke groaned before she leaned forward to kiss him.

Moving quietly backwards into her bedroom, Rory gave them some privacy. They were still like newlyweds, even after all these years, and it warmed her heart.

If she was brutally honest, spending time with the couple made her feel a little empty, too. She was getting to that age where she wouldn't mind having someone to share her life with. She loved the career she'd chosen, but it didn't leave much time for dating. This position at the White House would be the first stationary post she'd had in nearly a decade.

Travelling was a part of journalism, she knew, but it was hard on relationships. No one had lasted more than a few months in the face of long-distance, Face Time calls and last-minute trips. And she couldn't really blame them. She had trouble missing someone she had barely gotten to know before flying off for weeks at a time. After the last disaster, she had given up altogether. It was just too hard.

"Rory? Luke's going down to make sure we didn't forget anything in the truck." Her mom's voice cut across the apartment.

"Can he maybe pick up some…"

"Coffee? Already requested."

Rory grinned. "Thanks Luke!" she yelled back.

After a minute, Lorelai appeared at the bedroom door again.

"Nice place they found you, hmm?"

Rory looked up from the box she was fiddling with.

"Yeah. The agent said the landlord only rents to White House staffers. I guess we're a good credit risk."

"Nice that it came fully furnished, too." Lorelai launched herself at the bed again, landing in a puff of goose down bedding.

Rory laughed without much humour. "Yes, handy considering I don't own any furniture. I actually had to buy sheets for that bed, because I've never had a king before."

"Wow. Yeah, I guess I never really considered that you've been a nomad forever. Doesn't lend itself to collecting dressers and chairs and things, does it?"

She couldn't answer her mother, because the truth was just too sad to contemplate. Here she was, on the wrong side of 30, and she didn't even own her own bed. She had an impressive resume, and contacts around the world, but little else.

"Well, this is the beginning of great things for you Rory, I can tell."

"I thought this job _was_ the great thing."

Lorelai shook her head and pulled her daughter down onto the bed with her.

"Your career is amazing, but I get the feeling it's time for you to put down roots somewhere, and really build a life for yourself."

Her mother's words brought a smile to her face. She always knew just the right thing to say when Rory was in one of her moods.

"And this apartment just feels like it's yours, you know? I mean, did you see those bookshelves? Huh?"

She had to admit, the built-ins in the living room were impressive. Her collection might just fit, if she stopped buying new titles, and got rid of her second copies of everything.

"You ok honey?" Lorelai brushed the hair off Rory's forehead, like she had when Rory was a child.

"Yeah, just tired and overwhelmed. I still have to find my clothes for tomorrow morning, and get my alarm clock out."

Her mother eyed her like she had a charming brain injury. "If I know you, your first day outfit is at the top of your suitcase, with tissue in between the layers to keep it from wrinkling. And your phone can be an alarm clock too, you know."

Rory sighed. Leave it to Lorelai to see right through her.

"I'm nervous, Mom. I mean, beyond first-day jitters."

"Oh honey, that's normal."

"It's the White House. The _White House_. It's more than a big deal. It's the biggest deal." She stopped to take a deep breath. "I just don't want to screw it up."

A pair of surprisingly strong arms came around her before she could blink.

"You're going to be great, kiddo. Just do your best and don't worry about everyone else." Lorelai kissed her head and leaned back. "And don't trust anyone. If I've learned nothing else from Olivia Pope, it's that everyone in Washington is a snake. And that everyone in Washington dresses like they're in the front row at New York Fashion Week. Yeah, on second thought, you should probably start looking for your clothes now."

Rory groaned and dropped her face into her hands as her mother bounced off the bed.

"Inspirational as always, Mom."

"Yes, I could have been the Tony Robbins of our time. Sadly, now all of my talent is wasted on Michel, who is genetically immune to motivation."

"That makes so much sense."

Her mother nodded wisely, then cocked her head in the direction of the front door.

"Hark! The coffee man cometh!"

Rory followed Lorelai into the small kitchen, where Luke was shaking the rain off his shoulders and unloading a carrier tray of drinks.

The women snatched their cups up quickly, both sighing as they tasted the hot coffee.

"So, clearly I've failed with you two," Luke deadpanned. "I'll have to concentrate my efforts on Will. Hopefully it's not too late to rip him from the clutches of caffeine addiction."

Rory's head came up quickly. "Oh! How is my baby brother? I'm sad you couldn't bring him this weekend."

"Well, he's sad too. Sad he has to go to school tomorrow and therefore doesn't get to stay up late." Luke's voice softened as he spoke of their son. He'd been a surprise to everyone, arriving as he had after Lorelai's 42nd birthday, but he was now a town fixture. It was even looking like he could surpass Rory as Stars Hollow's reigning royalty.

"I'm sure he's having fun with Aunt Sookie and the kids."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Sookie is packing him full of cookie 'samples' as we speak."

"She's already testing recipes for Christmas? That's over two months away!" Rory was incredulous, although it certainly seemed like Sookie to start extra early.

"Well, this year she's determined to get her recipe in _New England Living Magazine._ You know how they do a profile of the best inns in the Northeast every Christmas?"

Rory choked on her coffee. "Sookie knows that magazines put together their holiday issues in July, right?"

"Apparently it's slipped her mind again," Lorelai giggled wickedly. "And you know what her forgetfulness usually means."

Rory chuckled too, but more at Luke's puzzled expression than the thought of Sookie's cookies. "Here's hoping she's not pregnant!"

"Oh my god, could you imagine? Jackson would have a fit!" Lorelai had to put down her cup, she was laughing so hard.

"Never mind a fit, Jackson would be dead with a meat cleaver in his back," Luke muttered from behind his herbal tea.

They all sighed, hoping it wasn't true, but knowing it was a distinct possibility.

"Well, thanks again for all your help this weekend."

Lorelai put her arm around Rory's shoulders, pulling her in tight.

"Anything for my favourite daughter."

"You know, I could have moved your stuff with my truck." Luke's grumble felt like home to Rory, even as she stood in an unfamiliar apartment.

"I know Luke, but the movers were paid for. And this was a little different than moving me around Connecticut when I was at Yale."

"Atlanta is a little further than New Haven, honey. But Rory is finally within driving distance!"

"More or less," Luke muttered, no doubt thinking of the six hour trip.

Rory smiled back at him. "I'm sure I'll have things that need fixing every now and then."

"Don't you have a landlord for that?"

She knew he wasn't complaining about the time it would take to get there, or the hassle of fixing odd things around her apartment. On the contrary, he was hoping that she'd call him regardless.

Her gaze was misty as she looked up at him. "But my landlord won't bring me coffee and pie."

Luke stepped forward and put his arms around both women, pulling them into a group hug.

"That's true. I'll send you care package in a couple of days, to make sure you haven't died from a lack of decent pie."

"Thanks Luke." Her words were muffled by flannel, but he didn't need to hear them to know she meant them.

They all had to wipe their eyes when they pulled back, and Lorelai was holding her husband's fingers a little tighter than normal.

"There's leftover pizza in the fridge if you get hungry later. And we're not leaving until late tomorrow morning, so if you think of anything you need, just call."

"Thanks Mom, but I'm an adult. I can shop for toilet paper and pop-tarts by myself." Rory shook her head at her mother. No matter how old she got, she would always be a kid in Lorelai's eyes.

"Ok, ok. Just offering!"

Luke started to edge towards the door, and Rory suspected he was anxious to get his wife back to their hotel room. They'd had a long two days, and there was an even longer drive to look forward to in the morning.

"Call me when you get home tomorrow and tell me all about your first day. I want to know it all! Who's feuding, who's sleeping together, who has the best shoes!"

"Ok Mom."

"I'm serious! We'll be home by then. I'll be waiting by the phone."

Luke cleared his throat. "We might be a little late."

His wife looked momentarily surprised. "We will? Oh! Right, we might be a little late getting home."

There was something going on, and Rory's eyes darted back and forth between the two. Even though it was usually Luke that couldn't stand her withering stare, Lorelai caved-in first.

"We might stop in Philadelphia to see Jess. You know, if he's not busy."

"Oh." Her mind raced, thinking of his letter. "Well, tell him I said hi."

The couple shared a surprised look, speaking wordlessly as only couples did.

"Ok. We will."

"Good."

"Ok then."

"Good."

After another awkward beat of silence, Lorelai leaned in for another hug.

"Be great tomorrow, honey. Everything is going to work out. I smelled snow this morning, and you know good things always happen with the first snow."

"Mom, it's supposed to get up to 60 degrees this week."

"Hush. Don't argue with your mother."

Luke chuckled and held Lorelai's coat out for her.

After another round of hugs, and promises of more frequent visits and phone calls, Rory suddenly found herself alone.

She wandered from room to room for a while, which wasn't too exciting in a one bedroom apartment. Finally, she let herself drop down into the overstuffed couch facing the bay window. The lights of Georgetown twinkled in the darkness, and if she looked hard enough, she could see the lights at the top of the Washington Monument in the distance. Her breath left her in a loud woosh, and her stomach started churning again, as it had been doing for days.

She was really here. She was really doing it. Tomorrow, she would walk into the White House and sit at her desk in the corner office, and then she would be the voice of the President and his administration. It wasn't as simple as that, of course, but it felt no less ominous for its complexity.

She gave her head a shake and tried to put things into perspective. It wasn't like she'd never been to the White House before. She had worked there almost daily for four years as a member of the Press Corps, for various publications. But then she'd always been on the far side of the podium, asking the tough questions but never having to answer any of them.

Now, she wouldn't be able to hide behind a recorder or a microphone. Her only pieces of armour starting tomorrow were her intelligence, and the ubiquitous 'No comment', which she had grown to loathe in her years as a journalist.

It was a strange thing to try to adjust to, the 180 degree turn in perspective. Rather than just reporting on the news, she would now be making the news, or at least giving an official opinion. So much to learn, so much to try to take in before she said something stupid or out of turn.

Rory noticed her hands had gotten clammy, and decided to get busy to try to quiet her thoughts. There was an old portable stereo sitting on the window seat, presumably left over from the previous tenant, and she flipped it on.

Whoever lived here last had clearly liked adult contemporary and soft rock. The five preset stations yielded nothing but Rod Stewart, Barry Manilow and various other permutations of elevator music. It took several minutes, but she finally found a college station that didn't threaten to put her to sleep.

With the oppressive silence of the empty apartment now banished, Rory dug into her first box of books. She worked methodically, pulling the volumes out and checking their titles and authors before placing them in the bookcases that lined one whole wall of the living room. Other residents had likely filled the shelves with pictures and knickknacks, but she would have no problem stuffing them full of her favourite stories.

She paused briefly to get a slice of pizza and a soda from the fridge. It was so strange, living in a furnished apartment – she'd never really gotten used to it. She never had to unpack the kitchen in any of the cities she lived in; the plates and glasses and forks were just _there_. Not that it mattered, really. Until now, she had lived more in hotels and airports than she ever had in the places she'd called 'home'.

Partway through the second box, her fingers brushed a cover she would know with her eyes closed. _The Subsect_. And beneath it, all of his other books, along with the volumes of hers that he'd written in over the years.

Her mouth curled up in a wistful smile. Vandalism! She remembered how outraged she had been when he returned her copy of _Howl_ , filled with his notes and thoughts in the margins. It was something a lot of writers and intellectuals did, she knew. She had just never been able to deface one of her books that way. But Jess had never been afraid to do whatever he wanted, living life by his own slightly skewed moral compass.

His books deserved their own shelf, she decided, placing them right in the middle at eye level, next to the fireplace mantel. She still couldn't believe he'd written five books, with another trilogy apparently on the way. His writer's voice was still clear and distinct, which was a rarity. Too many authors, after a little success, tended to write for their audience rather than themselves. But Jess didn't care if anyone read his books. They were just stories that he had to get out of his head the only way he knew how. And now he was helping other writers perfect their voices too, passing on his knowledge and passion for the craft.

When the second box was empty, she ran out of steam and took a step back. Her motley collection of books, well read, well worn and well loved, looked distinctly out of place in the lovely apartment. It was the kind of place most people dreamt about: a converted townhouse from 1870-something with twelve foot ceilings, original hardwood floors and chunky mouldings everywhere. It was on one of the best streets, in one of the most sought after historical neighbourhoods.

And she felt like an imposter to even be unpacking her meagre belongings onto those shelves.

This kind of apartment should be the home of a confident, senior staffer, not a newbie like herself. She was much more suited to her Yale dorm room, or her childhood room in Stars Hollow, come to think of it. She hadn't really felt at home since leaving college, and still considered herself a twenty-two year old graduate on the inside.

Rory shook her head, amazed at her own lack of confidence. Was she really feeling inadequate about living in a nice apartment? How was she going to command any type of authority at the White House tomorrow if she couldn't even muster the courage to unpack her books?

She slouched down into the couch cushions once more, lifting her purse onto her lap. Her phone was somewhere at the bottom, she was sure. As she rifled through the contents, she pulled out the random things she had shoved in the previous morning before leaving her Atlanta apartment for the last time; toothbrush, unopened mail, press badge, travel mug. She clearly needed a better organization system, or a smaller purse. Neither seemed likely, considering her lifestyle.

Finally, Rory's fingers grasped her phone, and another bunch of scattered papers. When she finally got the mess free of her shoulder strap, she saw that Jess' note was in her hand. She hadn't forgotten about it, of course. It had just been overshadowed by all of the other craziness in her life at the moment.

With a heavy sigh, she settled back with the last of her soda, and pulled his letter out of the envelope. The sight of his handwriting made her stomach flip every time she saw it. Even nine years later, his scrawled notes in her books could do the same thing.

She wondered again why he'd written to her now, of all times. There had been other opportunities, other occasions she'd moved to a newer, better job. After he had visited her at her grandmother's house, and after their ill-fated kiss in Philadelphia, she hadn't congratulated him on any of his books or TV appearances. Maybe she should have, but she hadn't wanted to broach the subject of their delicate truce. Considering their past and the arguments they always seemed to get into, it just seemed easier to leave it alone.

She remembered when he'd said that being an overseas journalist was maybe too rough for her, and how angry she'd been. But there had been a kernel of truth in his words. Though she hadn't actively avoided any foreign assignments, she hadn't sought them out either. Through the years, she found she had a real knack for political reporting, and fell in easily with the government community. Maybe she wasn't standing with a microphone in the middle of a war zone, but what she did really mattered.

Rory rubbed the paper between her fingers. Why now? She supposed the answer was fairly simple, on the surface. He was proud of her. He hadn't specifically used the word, but she could feel it just the same. After all of his amazing accomplishments, his self-made success, Jess was impressed by what she was doing. They really had gone full circle.

She read his words again, tracing her fingers over the lines.

 _I won't say good luck because you don't need it._

The thought was a nice one, but the butterflies in her stomach would have preferred if he had actually said it anyway. While his opinion wasn't exactly unbiased, it was certainly more accurate than her mother's. What Rory really wanted was someone who would give her the straight truth.

Could she really do this, or was she destined for failure?

Suddenly, there was only one person she needed to talk to. It took a second of scrolling through her phone contacts, but she eventually found the number. She just hoped it was still current.

"Hello?"

"Paris?"

"Gilmore? Well well! Nice to know the Secret Service goons haven't blocked my number yet. How is it, working in the bosom of national democracy?"

"I haven't started yet, actually."

"Oh, then what are you doing calling me? Shouldn't you be digging through Hoover's "Official and Confidential", looking for dirt to leverage Ted Turner for better coverage of Senate Committee hearings?"

Rory groaned, wondering how the people probably monitoring her phone were liking this conversation.

"Paris, just because I work for the Administration doesn't mean I get access to FBI files."

"What? Then why the hell would you want to work there? Washington has become a land of spineless jellyfish, incapable of gathering enough brain cells to have a collective thought."

"I called to ask your opinion, actually."

"Of course you did," Paris stated matter-of-factly.

"Do you think I can do this job?" She held her breath, waiting for the classic Paris Gellar bluntness.

"Yes."

Rory sat in stunned silence for a second.

"You do?"

Paris sighed with impatience. "You're one of the few people I would trust to represent the leader of the free world, yes."

"Really?"

"Grovelling for compliments doesn't become you, Rory."

"Sorry. It's just… How can you be so sure?"

"That sickening, small-town, apple pie upbringing of yours makes you incapable of being morally corrupted. I can't explain it, but I've seen it time and time again. You always do things for the right reasons, which is annoying, but also desperately needed in our nation's capital."

"Wow. Thanks, Paris. I …"

"I fully expect you'll be torn apart like the good guy always is in classic Americana."

She should have known Paris wouldn't just give her approval and leave it at that.

"But it might do you some good to get dirty in the trenches; learn how our country's lawmakers actually operate, making shady, backroom deals while the proletariat shoulders the financial consequences…"

"Thanks Paris."

Her outspoken friend took a sharp breath, not used to being cut off, mid-sentence.

"Anytime, Gilmore."

"I'm afraid to ask, but do you have any advice for my first day?"

"Now that you mention it, I do have some ideas on how you could whip that place into shape…"


	4. Snail Mail, Chain Mail

**A/N:**

 **Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter published. Certain world events have made me reconsider where this story is headed... which will become clear about five chapters from now.**

 **As always, your comments and reviews are very welcome and appreciated. I read, learn and grow from them all, good or bad.**

 **Disclaimer: Any similarity to previously posted fan fiction is unintentional. All ideas are my own, except those of the original series. I still don't own Gilmore Girls, but I'm jonesing for the new episodes, as I'm sure you all are too.**

 **Chapter 4 – Snail mail, Chain mail**

Jess raised his head at the sound of his name.

"Yo, Jess. You in there? Mail-call, Mr. Bossman."

He grimaced as Stephen tossed a bundle of letters onto his desk, narrowly missing his coffee. The kid was entirely too chipper considering the early hour, a holdover from his time with the army no doubt.

"Turn down the wattage. Some of us don't crow with the roosters, ok?"

Truncheon's newest hire just smiled right through Jess' attempt to put him down. Damn. He wondered briefly how Matt had ever convinced him to give the kid a chanceand groaned inwardly. Stephen wrote great short pieces for their monthly issue, of that there was no doubt. But his talent just wasn't worth putting up with the AM, smiley-happy bullshit. Luckily, there was a morning delivery, which distracted Stephen from continuing their conversation any further.

Jess lowered his head back down to rest on his forearms, wishing again that he had stopped reading that damned manuscript at a decent hour instead of working right through and into the pink hours of dawn. He was getting too old for all-nighters, but there was just too much work to handle at the moment.

He, Matt and Chris were juggling all three locations for now, trying to share the owner, publisher and manager duties of the new Truncheon empireamongst themselves. It wasn't a permanent solution, though, a fact that had become glaringly obvious. They were all burnt out, struggling to keep up with the demands on their time. At some point they would have to break down and hire a manager for at least one shop, likely Boston, as none of them liked travelling there. Chris had drawn the short straw, but he wouldn't be able to stay there forever without hating his partners.

Jess wearily turned his eyes to the stacks of work waiting for him. There was a novella waiting for a first read-through, and a few folders of photos from artists hoping to show their work in the store. And then there was a stack of bills waiting to be paid.

He rubbed his hands over his face, and wondered how he'd gone from promising writer, to editor, to business owner, to bookkeeper in under ten years. He mentally added _hire a bookkeeper_ to the running To Do list in his head. After a fortifying gulp of coffee, he stripped the rubber bands off the mail and started sorting through it. Probably best to start with making sure the lights didn't get shut off.

Halfway through the pile, he sat up straighter in his chair. The envelope he held in his hands was clearly marked with a gold and blue eagle, and the postmark was Washington DC. He ripped into it quickly, a tear slicing right through his address, written in swirling, feminine script that he had recognized instantly.

Holy shit. Never in a million years did he think he'd get a letter on official White House stationery, especially not from her. But their lives had evolved in strange and magical ways such that nothing truly surprised him anymore.

 _Jess,_

 _I thought you'd get a kick out of receiving a letter with the White House seal. I know I'm getting a thrill while writing it, although that could just be because it's my first one. And I fully intend to put this fancy pen in my purse when I'm done._

 _Thank you so much for your note. Your congratulations will always mean a lot to me. I'm sorry it's taken more than two weeks to say that, but my head is still spinning. I've only unpacked my coffee pot so far, and considering how busy I've been on my first day, I doubt I'll get all of my books onto shelves before it's time to pack up and leave again._

 _I may just have to sleep under my desk here at work; at least the carpet is soft. That, and they have good donuts, which we all know is a deciding factor._

 _Hopefully I've sent this to the right location, or at least that it will reach you soon. I was suitably impressed to have three cities to choose from when looking for an address! Where will Truncheon expand next?_

 _Rory_

His mouth quirked up at the corner, and he ran his fingers over the embossed emblem at the top of the page. She might hold one of the most powerful jobs in her field, but she still wrote like the old Rory.

His Rory.

That was a dangerous train of thought. He huffed out a breath and tossed the letter down onto the wood surface of his desk like it was poison. After all of their history, all of the hurt on both sides, he had no business thinking like that. It was safe enough to watch her on TV, his one sided obsession staying under control by virtue of the medium.

But this was different. He wanted to write back. Hell, he was already drafting his response in his head.

 _Get it together, Mariano_ Jess lectured himself silently. She was just being polite, acknowledging his letter as common courtesy dictated. Her grandmother had no doubt drilled some version of Miss Manners into her head along with the DAR indoctrination.

She was just being polite.

He pushed her letter to the side, and tried to ignore the ache he felt at the idea that her response was nothing more than a perfunctory thank-you. After another sip of coffee, he pulled the business chequebook out of the bottom drawer and ripped open the bill at the top of the scattered pile of envelopes.

Twenty hand-cramping minutes later, Jess was no closer to being finished. He was not cut out to do this sort of work. In fact, at that precise moment he would rather be anywhere else in the world, no matter how inhospitable, if it meant he wouldn't have to pay bills anymore.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. Damn. He'd forgotten his glasses at his apartment. No wonder his head was already aching. His vision wasn't so bad that he was unable to read completely, but just enough that it caused a horrible headache from the strain of squinting at the damn chequebook.

Jess unconsciously reached for the letter again. Its creamy white paper stood out amongst the dingy envelopes and receipts. His fingers traced over the embossed address block at the top.

 _Office of the Press Secretary. 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, District of Columbia._

Yes, there was a PO box listed as well, where he was sure all mail was checked and stamped before being distributed. But he liked the idea of that address, so symbolic and recognizable. He definitely liked the idea of Rory sitting there at her desk, doing great things, being witness to events that shaped the whole nation.

Her signature hadn't changed much. He'd always thought it was girly, the way the letters looped over on themselves. It had seemed at odds with the person he'd known, who was both feminine and beautifully simple in the same breath. His Rory – such an enigma.

Shit. He had to stop thinking of her like that. She was probably a completely different person now, with life experiences so disparate from his own that they likely had no more in common than a bear and a butterfly would. Still, she made the effort to say thank you. And she had asked a question at the end of her reply. It would be rude not to respond in kind, wouldn't it?

He leaned back in the office chair, holding the thick paper up in front of him. He knew he was trying to find a justification for what he wanted to do. He wasn't so far gone that he couldn't be honest with himself about his motivations. Normally he was so certain, relying on his gut for decisions large and small. And he never second guessed them. Not anymore.

But when she was involved, his instincts were unreliable. Just the thought of her and their interwoven past sent his internal compass whirling. She had brought him to his knees, more than once. How could he trust himself knowing that all bets were off where she was concerned?

Screw it. _It's just a letter you jackass._ The voice on his shoulder - angel or devil, he couldn't be certain – broke through, ending his melancholy exploration.

What was the worst that could happen? They weren't even speaking, technically; just sending old-fashioned, hand-written letters back and forth. Shit, they were pen pals, at best. There was nothing inherently dangerous about that. It was an activity for girl scouts and primary school classes.

 _Yeah, and prison inmates._

Jess snorted to himself. The noise alerted Stephen, who gave him a curious look from behind the front counter.

"What?" he snarled, hating the way the kid was watching him.

Stephen held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Nothing, man. Just wondering why the gas bill was so funny, is all."

Jess rolled his eyes and stood to face his employee.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and re-do the front window? Halloween is coming up and I'm sure we can find some depressing, spooky titles to push out the door."

With that, he shut the office door firmly in Stephen's face. He considered it a real piece of personal growth that he hadn't slammed it in frustration instead. He certainly didn't need anyone in his business, especially this business, with this person.

Chris and Matt had made their opinions about Rory perfectly clear. They couldn't really hate her because neither had really met her, and they weren't the types to pre-judge a person. But after her one disastrous visit to Truncheon, they both felt he was better off without the distraction. And until now, he hadn't had any reason to disagree.

But that was all years ago. They didn't bring her up in conversation when he talked about Stars Hollow anymore. That time in his life seemed so far removed from where he was now, it didn't even register to his partners. And he intended to keep it that way.

With his decision made, Jess reached down to the bottom left drawer of his desk, pulling out the package of stationery he'd bought specifically for his first note to her. He refused to acknowledge why he thought special paper was required to send Rory his congratulations. The store was on his way to work that morning, he was thinking about what he wanted to write to her, and so it had seemed logical to stop in.

If he was a fanciful sort of person, he might have said that any note to her deserved better than a page torn out of his writing notebook. But he didn't think he'd ever even used the word fanciful, so it was a moot point.

With a clean, white sheet on the desk, he grabbed his pen; his writing pen. Every writer had their preference. When he was young, and poor, anything with ink or lead would do when he needed to get his thoughts out. His writing had matured however, and so had his tastes. Sure, he used a laptop for most things. But when the words were important, or when the emotion was too much for a keyboard, he preferred the permanence of thick, black letters by his own hand.

As Jess touched the pen to the heavy paper, the ink flowed with his thoughts. There was something melodic about the way the nib scratched over the surface, following his quick movements with surety. His rhythm never faltered, because he'd never been short on words when he was speaking to Rory. Soon, the page was filled, and he moved on to the matching envelope.

Only when the letter was sealed shut did he sit back and take a breath. His fingers flexed and he stared at the envelope. It seemed so innocent, but his erratic gut felt otherwise. What if she didn't write back? It wasn't that hard to imagine, being as busy as she was.

But what if she did send him another letter? His eyes flicked again to the package of paper and matching envelopes; there were eight of each remaining. Suddenly, he hoped to have the chance to use every single piece.

He jumped up and threw on his jacket, grabbing his keys and the stack of mail. His letter got shuffled between the outgoing cheques, hidden from any prying eyes that might be waiting outside the office. His luck held until his fingers touched the front door.

"Hey! You going out? It's almost time for my fifteen."

Jess marvelled at the way Stephen's voice could sound cheerful and pissed off at the same time.

"I'm heading to the post office. You know, _Bossman_ duties wait for no one's coffee break." Jess smirked and stepped out into the brisk fall day. "Later, kid."


	5. Throw me a life preserver

**A/N: This chapter really had me stuck, and then I lost the passion for this story, and writing in general. But I'm back on track now, and looking forward to moving these two ahead in their imaginary lives.**

 **I'm happy to receive your feedback, as always. Thanks for sticking with me.**

 **Chapter 5 –Throw me a life preserver**

Rory let her body sag into her desk chair, and it squeaked loudly. The sound was quickly swallowed up by the heavy drapes and sumptuous furnishings in her new office. Her eyes swung to the right, subconsciously looking for an escape from what was beginning to feel like her gilded prison. But the view out the tall, bulletproof windows had long since gone dark, not just from the shorter fall day, but because she was staying late. Again.

After only two weeks, Rory's reputation for putting in too many hours at the office was firmly entrenched. Everyone knew she was one of the first in the door and likely the last to leave. The only people who were there even later were the Secret Service agents and the Marines on guard duty.

 _But at least they had rotating shifts,_ Rory thought with a hint of envy. If only she could figure out the cloning process so that there were two of her. Then maybe she could read all she wanted to read, do all the work she had to get done, and actually find time to enjoy being in this lovely office with a view of...

Well, ok - it was a view of the driveway. Still, it was a view she was lucky to have, and one that many of her peers dreamed of.

Rory's head dropped forward into her hands, and she grimaced at her negative thoughts. This wasn't working out at all the way she had expected. She knew it would be hard work, yes. And she had planned for growing pains and hiccups in the learning process.

But now, she was starting to seriously doubt the feasibility of one person doing this job by themselves. There simply weren't enough hours in the day.

Add to that the fact that a few members of the staff didn't care for her at all, and made no effort to hide their disdain, and she was in what her mother liked to call an extreme pickle. The biggest of all garlic dills, this was. The harder she tried to get everyone to like her and respect her, the more they thumbed their noses.

And of course her Deputy just happened to be the worst of the worst. Perry Tremaine was old school, as old as they came in the 'old boys club' of the House's Administration. He'd been Deputy to three Secretaries now, and it was becoming clear to Rory that he'd thought this time around he'd get the call and the big office.

But for whatever reason, the Chief and POTUS had picked her. She was grateful, but sometimes she wondered what the hell they'd been drinking when they made their choice. And she was getting the sinking sensation that she'd been set up to fail. Not intentionally, of course. She never once thought that their offer was ingenuous. But these days there was rarely a minute that she didn't feel inadequate for the position with which she'd been entrusted.

God, what a mess.

A soft knock on her door brought her head up, and she hoped she didn't look as awful as she felt.

"I'm headed out, boss."

She smiled at the tall woman with smooth chocolate skin. Her secretary was an ally, and a strong one at that. Rory wouldn't have survived this long without her help.

"Thanks Angelique. Have a great weekend with your family. I hope the rain holds off for Trevor's big game."

She paused while buttoning up her coat. "Me too. Paul's parents are coming in just to see him start at QB. I'd feel awful if they got soaked."

"Grandparents don't mind. It could be 30 below, and they'd still be there with smiles on."

"And foam fingers!"

The women shared a laugh before a look of concern settled on Angelique's face.

"You staying late again tonight?"

Rory gestured to the piles of news reports and editorials on her conference table. "I have to get through this stuff before my first briefing on Monday."

When her secretary's frown lines deepened, Rory tried to crack a smile.

"Maybe Sunday will be a slow news day?"

Angelique just shook her head. "You know there's a whole team that puts together the highlights for you, so you don't have to read all of this yourself."

Her boss just nodded.

"Of course you know. Then why-"

"Because I don't want to miss anything that someone thought wasn't important enough to include."

Rory's explanation was met with a deep sigh.

"This is probably out of line for me to say, but you told me to just speak what's on my mind."

At Rory's confirmation, she took a deep breath."It's ok to trust other people to do their jobs."

Blue eyes met brown and Rory knew she was speaking the truth. But this job was so big, so important, she couldn't risk any mistakes, no matter how small.

"It's my first briefing Angie. It's all on me, and I know a few former colleagues who will delight in catching me on a point or two."

Angelique fiddled with the belt on her wool coat. "Maybe postpone your first time for a week? Perry is more than happy to do it and..."

"No." Rory's cheeks heated at the thought of backing down from an assignment. "The Chief set the date, and I intend to meet it with some of my best work."

The other woman sighed again and turned to leave.

"Ok. But you'll burn out before the end of the year, at this rate."

"I'll be fine. I just have to get through the first one."

"Sure boss. You'll be great."

Rory tried to hide her uncertainty with another smile, but knew she was failing when Angelique frowned again.

"Leave the coffee going?"

Angie's hair swung behind her as she pulled the door closed.

"Always do, boss."

While the West Wing quieted down for the night, Rory put the finishing touches on her latest blog entry for the White House's public website. The Chief had suggested the posts as a way to get her feet wet before jumping into the big Secretary shoes. At first, Rory felt like it was a slow pitch, almost condescending considering what they'd actually hired her to do. Her Deputy had been particularly cutting as he made snide comments about her _questionable_ abilities. But now she realized that, as a confidence booster, it was very welcome. It was the only writing she had been doing lately, and it was a relief to hit submit on something she knew she could handle.

As the email flew off to the proofreaders, her attention turned back to her huge desk. It felt as big as a car, and made her feel very small sitting behind it. The wood surface was marred with the indents of many pens, representing her numerous predecessors and their countless hours toiling away on the work she now shared.

The Chief had offered to get her a new desk, if she wanted; perhaps something more to her taste. But just as all of the Secretaries before her, she opted to keep the worn antique. It was a link to the great history of this room, and the role she now filled.

But could she live up to it?

Rory's attention was drawn to the heavy paperweight sitting under the desk lamp. A beautiful pink rose was encased in a glass bubble the size of a softball, staying forever perfect and preserved. It was a gift from the President's personal secretary, Bethany,for her first day – a tradition started decades earlier that represented the special relationship between the two positions. She was grateful for the courtesy.

As Rory had come to discover, the general idea was simple: Rory did her best to protect POTUS and the President's Office from media attacks and such, and the President's Office would take care of her.

After only her third day, her favourite coffee (other than Luke's) mysteriously appeared in the little kitchenette outside her office, along with a subscription to the Yale Daily News. Angelique wouldn't comment, but her sideways glances implied that the gifts were from Bethany.

It was yet another reason that Rory was determined to be the best Press Secretary she could be. People were counting on her. SHE was counting on herself. Failure or mediocre performance was not an option in this building.

Her fingers ran over the smooth glass, and then down to the letter weighted beneath it. She'd read it several times, but it still left her unsettled in the best way. Rory cursed herself as she again pulled the sheet free and let her eyes feast on the words.

 _Rory,_

 _I think I may just have to frame your letter. As a reformed hoodlum – well, almost definitely reformed – I can't imagine another circumstance where a letter addressed to me from the White House would carry anything but bad news, probably starting with '_ _ **You're being investigated**_ _'._

 _In all seriousness though, I hope you're enjoying what must be a crazy, thrilling, carnival ride. And if I know you, your coffee pot is all you need._

 _Yes, Truncheon continues to grow faster than we can rein it in. Expanding seemed like a good idea, but now we're stuck with the nightmare of staffing three locations with people we can trust. And considering that I'm often the "people person" of our little managerial triad, you can imagine what a pain it's been._

 _Maybe now that you're a boss, you can give me some insight. It's still not kosher to smack around the employees when they say something dumb, or express an interest in those Twilight books, right? What if it's just a verbal lashing? Come on, you have to give me something!_

 _Fine – I'll refrain from berating the help... but only because I can see your stern face in my head. I saw it enough times that it's permanently in there._

 _Make sure you play nice at the lunch table. And if all else fails, send up a smoke signal and I'll come by and break you out. Unless you still have an aversion to climbing out windows – never did understand that one._

 _-Jess_

She smiled wistfully at the last sentence. The reminder of their first meeting made her long for the simple days when all she worried about was whether a boy liked her, and whether she'd get an A or an A+ on a test. Another quick glance at her surroundings had her wondering when she had arrived here in adulthood. It must have snuck up on her when she was busy doing other things.

Suddenly her big office seemed too small for comfort and Rory jumped up from her chair, determined to walk off her restlessness before settling in to read another stack of reports.

The small reception area for the Press Secretary staff was empty, all the computer monitors turned off. The Deputy's office was likewise dark, the door left ajar. Because she knew that if she ran into anyone, she'd see more of the same disapproving looks for staying late, she decided to avoid the West Wing lobby altogether. Instead she turned left into the hallway outside the Cabinet Room and found herself at the staff entrance of the Press Briefing room.

Rory paused at the doorway, her nerves holding her captive. Funny, when she was sitting in one of the many gallery chairs, she felt totally in her element. But now, from this angle, the room seemed huge and intimidating.

 _Get it together, Gilmore. You won't actually bleed from their sharp questions._

She shook her head at her own stupidity and straightened her shoulders. If she was afraid of the room, then she would just have to spend some time in it until she wasn't afraid anymore. Her stomach swam a little, but she stepped into the room with a false bravado her mother would have been proud of.

Her confidence was short lived.

The motion sensors suddenly turned on all ten banks of fluorescent lights at once, causing Rory to shriek and jump back out the door. Luckily the hallway was still empty, and no one saw her blush and scurry inside.

It really wasn't a large room, in the grand scheme of things. And the dais wasn't raised that high. _Nothing to be afraid of_ , she lectured herself. As she stepped up to the most photographed podium in the world, she tried to remind herself that the room she was standing in used to be a swimming pool.

"Kind of gives new meaning to the saying _sink or swim_ ," she giggled to herself.

The longer she stood there, the more her feelings of trepidation grew, until the podium was literally the only thing holding her up. Maybe she couldn't do this. Maybe she would faint under the lights, in front of all those cameras, in front of her peers and colleagues.

 _Oh dear god, maybe someone will pull the fire alarm and save me._

She was mulling over the technical details of her escape from the White House when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Don't vomit – that smell never comes out of the carpet."

Martin, the President's long-time speech writer took a seat in the front row, and gracefully crossed one leg over the other. He'd been kind to her on her first few days, leaving her to settle in and stopping by to ask her opinion on how to slant things for some sound bites he'd written.

Rory blushed even deeper and took a settling breath.

"It's not being sick that I'm worried about. I've been having this dream the past few days where I get up here, open my mouth to speak, and nothing but Ron Burgundy's voice comes out."

He was silent a minute, considering her absurd nightmares. Then in a deadpan voice, he responded quietly.

"Then at least the corps will be amused before they tear you to ribbons."

She grimaced at the thought. "Gee, thanks. That helps a lot."

He sighed and brushed some imaginary lint off his trousers.

"Look, do you think you'd be here unless they had absolute confidence in you?"

Martin's face was impassive, but his eyes held a mixture of annoyance and encouragement.

"But what if they're wrong?" Rory knew she sounded pathetic, but her knees were still wobbling.

"You try telling Denis he was wrong, and see how that goes."

He raised his eyebrow in challenge, and she knew he was right. She worried her bottom lip as she contemplated the seriousness of the job she'd been given, and the responsibilities it entailed.

"You'll do fine, Ms. Gilmore. Try to at least have as much faith in yourself as everyone else does." Martin stood and tugged his impeccable suit into place, running a hand over his sleek, silver hair.

"I believe you said you weren't even unpacked yet. If you decide to run away on Monday afternoon, at least that's already done. Look on the bright side."

He left just as quietly as he'd come in and Rory continued her face off with the empty blue chairs, their seats folded and waiting for the press to arrive and fill the room with their energy and excited voices. Was this how Taylor felt, looking out at a town meeting? Probably not, she decided. He relished the rapt attention of the citizens, as much as they loathed his tyranny.

 _Well Stars Hollow, look at me now_ , she thought with a wry smile.

No one, including herself, could have predicted where she'd end up. And yet, all of her life experiences had been leading to this place, this moment in time.

 _You can do this. It's just like the debates at Chilton - preparation is key._

Rory almost laughed at that memory. Their poor opponents hadn't known what hit them. Although with a mouth like Paris', drawing blood was a distinct possibility. Rory considered her friend's nearly unshakable confidence. She would have no problem standing here.

 _Maybe I can channel a little Paris,_ Rory thought quickly.

 _Yeah, if I want my first briefing to start an international incident!_

Rory shook her head and tried to focus on her breathing, on staying calm while standing beneath the bright lights.

 _You can DO this. You've got the experience, and everyone believes in you_.

That final thought stuck in her head. She really did have a great cheering section. Her Mom and Luke, Grandma and Grandpa, Paris, Lane, Sookie. Really, the entirety of Stars Hollow was rooting for her.

 _You were destined for this, we both know it._

She even had supporters in other cities - one city in particular.

A smile curved her lips. Maybe she really could do this. There seemed to be plenty of people that believed she could; maybe she should start believing it too.

Rory finally stood up to her full height behind the podium and tried her withering stare on the imaginary gallery. After a few seconds of what probably looked like nothing more than squinting, she giggled.

Yes, she could do this.

On impulse, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and took a picture of the rows of empty seats before her. She knew there was someone who would particularly appreciate this view. Then she hurried out the door and back to her office; she had reading waiting for her. She also wanted to get a letter finished before the morning mail bag.


	6. Rhythm is Everything

**Chapter 6 – Rhythm is everything**

A week later, Jess found himself surreptitiously waiting for the mailman. It wasn't too obvious, he didn't think. He would just happen to be hanging out at the front counter each day around 10:30am, hoping there would be an envelope for him amongst the bills and flyers. He would deny it if anyone asked, of course. He didn't even really want to admit it to himself.

At least he no longer had to serve coffee all morning in order to catch a glimpse of her.

So far, his vigil had come up empty handed. He knew she was extremely busy so he tried not to be disappointed. But as the days wore on, he began the process of mentally kicking himself for hoping.

 _Of course she hasn't written you back, you moron. She's got this big, important job, on the WAY-out-of-your-league scale. You're low on her priority list, pal; somewhere between taxes and remembering to pick up dry cleaning._

So far, their mail conversation had seemed so familiar, so easy. That connection, whatever it was, lingered to the point that Jess could imagine it was present tense with very little effort.

 _You're presuming that she feels and remembers things the same way you do._

It was foolhardy and dangerous, making assumptions about someone he hadn't seen in years. She could be a completely different person now, maybe even one he wouldn't like.

 _She's Rory. You're incapable of not liking her._

Jess pinched his nose, trying to stave off the headache he was giving himself with the point / counterpoint tennis match. It was futile anyway; her letter would come, or it wouldn't. Waiting for the mail like a pathetic puppy and tearing up his insides over it wouldn't change the outcome at all. It would be better if he just got busy and pretended there was nothing different about today, or this week.

With his office door firmly shut, he buried himself in a second edit. He let the author's story wrap around him and block any outside thoughts from intruding. A therapist probably would have told him that extreme literary escapism wasn't a healthy way of dealing with his feelings. But for Jess, the written word had always been his shelter against anxiety, fear, sadness and disappointment.

Firmly into the ninth chapter, he didn't even hear Matt knock on his door.

"Hey Grumpy, something in the mail for you."

Jess' head snapped up, surprised that there was someone else in the room with him.

"What?"

"Mail. From the White House. For you." Matt tapped the envelope on the desk, eyeing his friend closely. "Something you wanna tell me?"

"Nope."

Jess frowned and grabbed at the letter, only to barely miss as Matt stepped back and raised his eyebrows.

"No? You sure about that? Because I seem to recall hearing something on the news a few weeks ago… I wasn't going to bring it up, but since the topic has reappeared with our copy of Time magazine…"

"Back off," Jess growled back.

"So this letter IS from her. Interesting…"

Jess felt his blood pressure rising as Matt clicked his tongue and smiled over the teasing possibilities.

"She's writing to you about a professional matter, I'm sure. I mean, what else could she have to say?"

Jess just glowered and refused to be drawn into a discussion.

"If you don't tell me I'm just going to make stuff up, you know." As Matt continued in a sing-song voice, Jess set his teeth and tried to calm down.

"Dear Jess, I'm having _such_ a good time here in Washington. The weather is great, and people are just SO nice to me. Send my love to Mom and Dad, I mean Uncle and Auntie… I mean, well, whatever…"

As he lunged again, Matt sidestepped and held the envelope over his head.

"Oh no, you're not getting this until I hear an explanation." His partner was practically glowing, thinking he had Jess over a barrel.

"You're only an inch and a half taller than me, idiot." And with that, Jess finally snatched the letter and bodily pushed Matt out the door.

"Geez man, lighten up. I was just pulling your chain…"

Jess ignored his friend and tore into the envelope. He wasn't going to acknowledge that his fingers were trembling ever so slightly. Besides, it was probably just lingering anger after Matt's invasion into his personal life. As he pulled the single sheet out, a photo fluttered down to the surface of his desk.

Empty chairs.

She sent him a picture of empty chairs? The room didn't look familiar, so why would she…

Recognition hit him quickly. The Press Gallery. She sent him a picture of her view from the podium in the Briefing Room. On the back were a few handwritten words:

 _The Cheap Seats_

He grinned as he unfolded her letter, but his smile didn't last long.

 _Jess,_

 _Greetings from Washington. I think I've found the best Indian food in the western hemisphere, and it's right down the street from my apartment. Problem is, it's also next door to a book store, so I think I've had a curry every night for the past week. (I should probably learn how to cook at some point, in my spare time.)_

 _I'm also not sure when I'll get to read all of these books I'm buying, since I seem to always be at work. There's always more to do. Speaking of, my first briefing is on Monday. It's funny how things look so different from the other side of the room. To calm my nerves, I'm trying my Grandpa's secret technique of picturing everyone in their underwear. That's not to say that the technique is secret, of course. Lots of people use it for public speaking. I just meant that he keeps it secret because it wouldn't be dignified for a Gilmore to picture a crowd in their underwear._

 _Except, now that I think about it, I'm a Gilmore too. So I probably shouldn't be imagining the reporter from Fox News in his boxer briefs. Ick. Definitely not._

 _I'm sure it will be fine. I mean, I've done my reading and research, and I have a team of fact checkers at my disposal. Everyone has confidence in me. I'm just working on having confidence in myself - I'll get there. I will get there, right? I have to._

 _Rory_

 _P.S. I checked. My office windows are bulletproof and don't open. Any other escape ideas? You know, just in case…_

Jess wasn't quite sure how to feel about Rory's letter. He could feel her nervous energy in the words she chose and the tight, squished feeling of her handwriting. The impression started his stomach churning and gave him a sense of urgency, even though she wrote and mailed the letter almost a week earlier.

He scanned the letterhead again, a plan galvanizing. Without further thought, he pulled out his phone and dialed the gold, embossed number.

"Office of the Press Secretary."

On hearing the strange voice, he was taken aback, forgetting momentarily that he didn't have her direct number.

 _Of course you don't. You're just supposed to be pen pals._

"I'm looking for Rory Gilmore." He suddenly remembered his manners, and tacked a "Please?" on the end before the woman had time to respond.

"Is she expecting your call sir?"

"No. Uh, no, she's not."

"May I ask what this is in regards to?"

Shit, he wasn't expecting to be interrogated just to get to speak to her. And he wasn't stupid enough to think _I'm an old friend_ would get him through. Time to think quickly, which used to be a real talent of his.

"I'm in publishing. She contacted me about some material we put out last year. I'm just calling back to answer her questions."

"I see. And your name, sir?"

"Jess Mariano, with Truncheon Publishing." Why did he suddenly feel like he was going to get the brush off?

This was a dumb idea. He was about to hit end on his cell and give up, when the voice cleared.

"Ahem. One moment please."

He listened to the politically correct music while he idly wondered if she'd accept his call, or if the receptionist would even ask her. He wouldn't put it past the woman to judiciously screen him out.

"Rory Gilmore."

Her voice, live and warm, reduced him to a puddle.

"Hey, it's me. It's Jess."

"So my secretary told me." He could hear her smiling behind her words and it eased the knot in his gut.

"Oh, right."

"So I'm presuming you didn't call to discuss a book you've published." Okay, now she was actually laughing at him.

"Nope, you got me there."

"That's too bad. I could have used the distraction."

Jess was internally reeling from the thought that he was actually talking to her after all these years, but he still knew the rhythm, the pattern of their speech.

"Guess why I am calling."

"Um, you got my letter and you're too lazy to actually write a response?"

"Am I that transparent?"

Rory giggled self-consciously. "No, just an obvious conclusion. But I suppose you might have called for another reason. There's lots of reasons to call someone. Like, just to say hello. But we've already done that now. Or, if they're sick or something. I suppose that would be a good reason."

"Are you sick?"

"No, no. Perfectly healthy. Are you? Sick, I mean?"

God, he loved that even as powerful and important as she was now, she still tripped over her words when he threw her off.

Jess grinned crookedly. "Nope. Picture of health over here. Nervous?"

Rory sighed into the phone and he imagined her breath washing over him.

"A little. It's been a long time, Jess."

"It has. I guess I'm a little nervous too." He paused, laughing under his breath. "But we're in good shape, because I think we've had this conversation before."

"I think you might be right."

"And it went ok the last time."

"Yes. True. So why are you calling?"

Why had he called her? The thought of her sitting at her desk, twirling the phone cord around her finger had him completely distracted, and feeling a little warm under the collar.

"Your letter. I thought we'd established that."

"Oh, right." To his ear, she sounded almost embarrassed that she'd sent it.

"You didn't make it sound like your job was going too well."

Rory laughed tightly. "Maybe I was just being dramatic."

"I don't think so."

"My mom says I have a penchant for the dramatic. I just hide it well."

Jess knew he needed to get back to the reason he'd originally called her, or they were in danger of falling into meaningless pleasantries.

"I watched the live feed of your briefing on Monday."

"You did?!"

"I did."

"I didn't know your skulking licence extended past driveways."

He smiled at the memory. "Well, it was either give it up, or evolve. Technology is just helping me keep with the times."

"Huh."

He grunted back at her. "Now who's verging on monosyllabic?"

There was a pause, and Jess worried he'd lost her.

"Just still surprised you watched my briefing."

She sounded both happy he had remembered and made the time, and also nervous about his opinion of her first performance.

"You were great."

"You're lying."

"I didn't know you took voice analysis classes at Yale."

Rory made a noise that sounded like a grimace over the phone. "How bad was it?"

"Not bad. It was good. But I could tell you were terrified."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but that was probably just me. I've seen that look before."

She sighed again. "Yeah, you probably have. When, specifically?"

"When you introduced me to Emily the first time."

"Wow. That's bad. You don't think other people could tell?"

Jess chuckled and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

"Nope. To everyone else you were cool as a zucchini."

"Isn't it a cucumber?"

"I hate cucumber. I'm taking artistic license."

"Oh."

There was silence from her end, but based on her tone, he guessed she wasn't finished. His patience was soon rewarded.

"Hey, Jess?"

"Rory..."

"Sometimes I'm not sure I can do this."

Jess sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "You can. I know you can."

"And you know me pretty well?"

"Better than most. Some would say I know you better than anyone."

"Some would."

In that moment, he was transported back to that fateful night, where he had yelled those words at her in frustration. He didn't regret them, just the way he'd said them, and the way they had altered their path forever.

"Would you say that, Rory?"

"Jess, I…"

He could hear her hesitation, the uncertainty. There was too much space and history between them to just fall back into old patterns.

"Beat it, Gilmore. Go be brilliant."

"Hey, Jess. Can I call you? Sometime, I mean?"

"Anytime Rory. I'll give you my cell number."

"You have a cell phone? Seriously?"

"Like I said: technology." He rattled off the digits quickly, not willing to give it too much thought. "I'm just trying to stay relevant. I've even been known to tweet, on occasion."

Rory laughed, the sound like rays of sunshine bouncing on water. "I'll have to look you up so I can read your nuggets of wisdom."

"You do that, although the nuggets are small to non-existent."

"Ok, I really have to go. Sorry."

"I'm not keeping you."

"Bye Jess."

"Bye Rory."

Jess thumbed the End Call button and just stared at the phone in his hand, barely able to remember to breathe. It was just like before, and yet completely different. They had both grown up into different people, and yet, did people ever really change? He personally believed that people were fundamentally the same from birth to death, with small tweaks here and there.

She still affected him the same way, still made the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. And even though he probably smiled marginally more now than he ever did as a teenager, she could still make him smile the brightest. After all these years and time apart, he felt her. He felt her just as strongly as he ever did.

Damn, would that ever go away?

Rather than be annoyed by it, which was his usual go-to emotion, he decided to just enjoy the feeling for once. He let the sound of her voice and their shared memories float him away from the real world for a minute.

Jess leaned back again, a peaceful expression on his face, and let his momentum spin the chair slowly in a circle.


	7. Too Many Admirers

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this up. I was distracted by the release of Year in the Life, but ultimately was inspired by the new episodes to continue with this story. Whatever your opinions about them (and believe me, I have many STRONG opinions on the subject), the new releases were still exciting to watch and reminded me why I fell in love with the Gilmore Girls in the first place.**

 **Brace yourselves, this is a long chapter! Reviews are life, and are greatly appreciated as always.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, nor any of the show's characters.**

Chapter 7 – **Too Many Admirers**

As it turned out, Rory's first briefing was better than satisfactory. The corps wasn't that hard on her, and there were no big, controversial topics to comment on that week. And after that, it was like ripping off a bandage. With three briefings now under her belt, her nerves were under control, more or less, and she was able to settle into the job and let a few things be delegated.

Angie had pencilled in a phone call with Lorelai on Wednesday morning, and Rory was extremely grateful. They hadn't spoken for nearly a week, and while it wasn't a record, it seemed like far too long without a mother-daughter chat.

Just after 10:00am, Rory swung her door shut and dialled the number for the Dragonfly. It rang three times before the receiver was picked up and then apparently dropped on the ground. The clattering noise made her hold the phone away from her ear, and in the background she could hear Michel swearing under his breath in French.

"Bonjour, Hello. Dragonfly Inn."

"Hi Michel. Having some problems?"

"Who is this?"

She sighed. "It's Rory, Michel."

"I'm sorry, qui?"

Rory closed her eyes and gave in to the exasperation that naturally came with talking to the Frenchman.

"Rory, Michel. You know, the owner's daughter? And I'm sorry I haven't gotten you White House passes yet. It's just a little early to be asking for favours at a new..."

"Ohh, Ro-ry! So nice of you to call. I wasn't sure you'd remember all of the little people that helped you on your way up."

She laughed to herself at the sweet and bitchy tone of his voice. It was a little early to be so cranky, even for him.

"I could never forget you, Michel."

"Of course not, cherie. Like Celine, I am one-of-a-kind. But you know this."

"Yes, Michel. Is my mom around?"

"Who can say? She runs in, she runs out. I cannot keep track of such a flighty woman."

Rory could almost picture him waving his hands around as he imitated Lorelai's movements.

"Could you maybe look for her?"

"Absolutely not."

"Michel, please? As a favour, for me?"

"I am a concierge, mademoiselle. I am not a bike messenger. It is not part of my duties to race about the property looking for your wayward mother, who may or may not be sitting in front of the coffee maker, waiting for it to chime and complete her life once again."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"I'll send you some White House post-its. They have gold eagles on them..."

He sighed in his condescending French way. "Fine. I will look. One moment please."

Rory tapped her fingers on the desk blotter, biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt not to laugh.

"No, she is nowhere."

"You didn't really look, did you?"

Michel snorted. "Of course I looked."

"No. You put the phone down on the desk, and pretended to look."

"How dare you suggest that I did not do what I said I was going to do?! I would never…"

"Gold eagles, Michel. Shiny ones. In multiple sizes." If she had to pull out the big guns, then by golly she would.

"Why look, here is Lorelai now. Lorelai, it is Rory. Always such a delight when she calls and ties up the front desk line, which was installed for paying guests."

Rory listened as her mother reminded Michel that he could quite easily be replaced by someone who worked at the Motel 6 in Woodbury, before she came back on the line.

"Hello, favourite daughter."

"Hi, Mom. What's responsible for the extra long baguette that's shoved up Michel's..."

"Children's festival is in town this week."

Rory nodded, putting her feet up on the file box next to her desk. "Ah."

"So the inn is booked full of families."

"Well, that'll do it."

Lorelai huffed. "He's been unbearable for days. I'm thinking about giving him a long weekend just to get him out of here."

"Or..."

"You have another idea?" Her mother sounded intrigued.

"You could always see if you could get the mascot costume from Stars Hollow High. Tell him he either turns his frown upside down, or he gets to entertain the kids as a… beaver?"

"I thought it was a gerbil."

"Porcupine?"

"Marmot?"

Rory snickered. "Do you even know what a marmot is, Mom?"

"Do _you_ know what a marmot is?"

Ok, so maybe she had a point. Lorelai laughed, and Rory imagined her wiggling her eyebrows in victory.

"Hold on, we'll get to the bottom of this. Luke!" Lorelai put her hand over the phone, but as usual Rory could hear every word of her mother's strong voice. "Luke! "

"What is Luke doing there?"

"Oh, just fixing a couple of things for me. Loose door handle, squeaky drawer in my desk. You know, handyman things."

"Ah, sure. Luke is definitely handy."

"You can say that again!"

Rory groaned at her mother's double entendre.

"Luke! What is the high school's mascot?"

Rory heard Luke answer back, grumpy but ever patient with her mother's craziness.

" _The what?"_

"The high school mascot. It's something small and furry right?"

" _Are you serious?"_

"Of course. Rory and I are having a disagreement. You can settle it for us."

" _Lorelai, the mascot is a Minuteman. You know that. You sewed a new costume for the school a few years ago."_

"Are you sure? I don't think I remember sewing anything Revolutionary."

" _I'm very sure. And I know this because you made me model it for you."_

Lorelai erupted into giggles so loud, Rory had to hold the receiver away from her ear again.

"Oh my god! I remember that! You were so unhappy in those tights that you willingly offered to go and get TJ to take your place."

Rory took the opportunity to jump back into the conversation. "And TJ would be a good replacement, why?"

"Because TJ loves tights like a kangaroo loves basketball. Duh."

Rory just rolled her eyes.

"So, Mom. Is this a bad time?"

"Sorry what, sweetie?"

"Do you have time to talk now, or are you going to continue to torture your handyman?"

Lorelai laughed again under her breath, and then she too closed her office door so that they could have a quiet minute to talk.

"Ok, Luke's gone off to annoy Michel. What's up?"

"I thought you might like to hear the latest in the saga of Rory vs. the Old Boys Club."

"Ooh yes, do tell."

"Well, the insults are apparently no longer veiled."

Lorelai whistled softly. "So the gloves are coming off, hmm?"

Rory closed her eyes and took a breath. Just thinking about her recent interactions with the Deputy Secretary made her blood boil.

"Honestly, I think even Grandma would be proud of the way he can twist a conversation to make me look bad."

"Careful, hon. The Grand Master will not appreciate being unseated."

"Oh, she's still out in front, don't worry. But Perry the Weasel is coming up fast."

Lorelai snorted. "You're calling him Perry the Weasel? That was the best you could come up with?"

" _Better than butt-faced miscreant,"_ Rory muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I purposely didn't return a call for a statement from the _Post_ because it's something that the President is going to address directly in his speech tomorrow. So of course they went to Perry, because he and the reporter are of a similar 'vintage'. He implied that I was 'prone to forgetfulness' and then apparently made a joke about how I'm 'unable to manage without my NEW FANGLED PHONE'. Can you believe that?!"

"That WEASEL!" Lorelai mimicked.

"Don't make fun. It was serious insubordination."

Her mother was still giggling. "I know, I know. It's just funny because I picture him saying it in a Yosemite Sam voice while playing with his mustache."

Rory rubbed the tension headache forming at the back of her neck. "Yes, his mustache is ridiculous. I believe we've already exhausted that line of mocking."

"Oh, no. There is much more mocking to be done on that front."

"ANYways. I have to do something about it. I'm just not sure what, yet."

Lorelai sobered slightly, and considered the problem. "Well, you could always call in the Grand Master herself. I mean, they're both so venomous, if they're actually in the same room together maybe they'll cause a rip in the space/time continuum and we'll kill two birds with one stone?"

"I don't think that's possible, but I will definitely be using that as my happy thought to get to sleep tonight." Rory laughed in spite of her elevated blood pressure, and was again glad that she had found time to call her mother.

"Well, then my job here is done."

Angie knocked softly on Rory's door at exactly 10:30, reminding her that other business was waiting.

"Sorry, mom. I've gotta run."

"Oh fine. Go back to your big, important job. I have to Google how to make a marmot costume anyways."

Rory giggled, knowing her mother might actually follow through on the idea. "Poor Michel. Talk to you soon."

"Ok. Bye, love."

"Bye, Mom."

She ended the call and rolled her eyes again. She missed her mom, and Luke, and the crazy town that had raised her. But she was quickly learning that the White House was just as nutty.

"Come in, Angie."

Angelique walked in briskly with a mug of steaming coffee and the day's mail.

"You're still smiling. Good call?"

Rory rolled her head back and forth, trying to ease the knot in her muscles. "My mother is always entertaining. Hey, what do you know about marmots?"

Her secretary looked at her oddly as she contemplated the question. "Um… they're small and furry?"

"Exactly. Ok, good. I'm not the only one in the dark about our furry friend, the marmot."

Angelique just laughed and turned to leave. "Chief booked some time with you at 10:45. Very last minute. Didn't say what it was about."

Rory nodded, absentmindedly flipping through the stack of correspondence. "My office or his?"

"He's going to call you, apparently."

She did take notice at this strange request. Denis' office was right down the hall from hers, and as far as Rory knew, he was here today. Why on earth would he be calling her rather than walking over in person?

Angie noticed her surprise. "Want me to call his office and get an idea of what he wants to discuss?"

She considered it, knowing that her secretary had good sources in the building. The call was only 15 minutes away, however, so she wouldn't have to wait long to unravel the mystery.

"No, that's fine. If Denis wants to call, I'm sure he has a good reason. When's my next appointment?"

"Not until 11:30. Martin wants to stop by and make sure you're on the same page about the speaking points for POTUS tomorrow."

"Sounds good. Maybe grab the take out menu for that sandwich place he likes? I doubt we'll be finished before lunch."

Angie nodded, letting herself out and shutting the door behind her.

Rory set aside two letters that needed written responses before the end of the day, and tossed a few pieces of junk mail into the recycling bin in the corner.

At the bottom of the stack was a nicer envelope she was beginning to recognize and look forward to. She smiled a little, then even wider when she realized she was enjoying his continued attention and their friendly, if somewhat curious, correspondence relationship.

Her letter opener made quick work of the outer envelope. She was also very pleased to note that, despite his reputation as a poor communicator, his handwriting continued onto the back of the single sheet inside.

 _Rory,_

 _Indian food, hmm? I would say I'll send the matches to deal with that situation to your office, but I'm sure that would be frowned upon in this world of intensive security. You should probably give me your home address instead, just to be safe – particularly if that book store is as good as you make it out to be. I might want to stop by and check it out some time._

 _Hopefully you're already feeling like a Press Secretary Superwoman, at least more so than the last time we spoke. I caught your second briefing online, and you looked like a force to be reckoned with – until that idiot from Huffington Post asked about the President's opinion of Bono. I was impressed that you kept a straight face, even though you were probably still picturing him in his underwear. (Tighty-whities, I'm betting.)_

 _Alright, so – to burn that horrible image out of my brain, can we please discuss that new (old) Harper Lee piece? What do you think, early draft of 'Mockingbird' or sequel? We could argue both sides, but I'm leaning towards the idea that it's a window into her writing process. How often do you get to see the first draft of a masterpiece? I think the reason I like it is because it feels more real, more raw somehow - not so precious and perfected. Don't get me wrong, the original was ground breaking, but I always secretly thought it was a bit contrived. (And yes, I can see the irony in a man who makes his living largely as an editor espousing a writer's need to stay true to an original draft.)_

 _But enough about my biased opinions; have you read anything worthy lately? Please say yes. Despite your strange leanings toward political nut-jobs (present employer excluded), I value your opinion slightly more than my business partners who prefer the angsty, literary equivalent of Fiona Apple. I seem to recall we were of the same opinion when it same to self-absorption in authors, which they clearly have no similar aversion to._

 _Actually, as I grow older and wiser (?) I'm noticing that finding someone you're so mentally compatible with is rare, indeed._

 _My agent is making noise about a short book tour next month to drum up interest in the paperback release of my latest (god knows why). I'm just hitting major East Coast cities, so I'll probably be in DC at some point. Maybe we can get together and catch up?_

 _I'll have my people call your people when I have some firm dates. And by my people, I mean me, because writers don't have people. Except for you – because you're kind of a big deal now._

 _-Jess_

Rory felt a blush rise on her cheeks and noticed she was tapping her toe under her desk.

Was Jess flirting with her?

She giggled to herself and read the letter again, just to be sure. Yes, there was definitely something different about his tone this time. If it was anyone else, she wouldn't give it a second thought. But this was Jess, who was always very much aware of what he wrote and how it came across.

And he wanted to see her when he was in town. There was never a question in her mind that she would accept his invitation. She wondered what he was like now, if he wore the same Chuck Taylors and still left his hair wild.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. Of course he didn't. They had both grown up since they last spent time together. It was silly to think that he would stay frozen in time, just the same as she remembered.

She didn't often let herself examine those particular memories too closely. If she looked from a distance, the rose coloured glasses would stay in place and she could remember him just as she liked: a brilliant but tortured, passionate loner who rarely let anyone but her see behind his curtain. Closer scrutiny however, revealed the painful parts of their history as well, including the ones that she herself was responsible for.

The desk phone rang, and Rory folded the letter in half with a sigh, securing it under her paperweight.

"Rory speaking."

"Boss, I've got the Chief on the line for you. He's calling from an internal extension, but it's not his office."

She could hear Angie's implied question. _Why is he calling you from somewhere else, and what the heck is this about?_

"Curioser and curioser. Put him through."

Rory took a deep breath and listened as the line clicked in her ear.

"Hi Denis."

"Rory, hey. Sorry for the cloak and dagger stuff, but we've got a bit of a situation. Could you come and meet me?"

"Um, sure. Where am I going?"

She could hear voices in the background, and paper shuffling. Wherever her boss was, he wasn't alone.

"I'm in the security office on the second floor."

"The Secret Service operations office? Okay. You've definitely piqued my interest here, Chief."

He huffed and cleared his throat. "Again, sorry. I was trying to keep it confidential for you."

"Should I be worried?"

"What? Oh, no. No. I'll explain everything when you get here."

"Ok. I'm coming up now."

Rory hung up the phone and rubbed the back of her neck again. What the hell was going on? She grabbed her notebook and walked out past Angie, who looked eager for information.

"Gotta go meet the Chief. I've got my phone, so I'll call if I'm going to be late for Martin."

She didn't wait for a response or the additional questions she knew would be coming from her secretary. The stairwell was just around the corner, and she ran up the steps quickly, which did nothing for her racing heart.

Upstairs, the West Wing was never in the public eye, so rather than the historical opulence of the main floor, it resembled instead a slightly upgraded government office building. Beige walls and greyish-brown carpets gave way to offices and the occasional nest of cubicles.

At the end, on the left, the door to the Secret Service suite was open. Rory tried to calm her stomach and stepped up to the receptionist, who seemed to be waiting for her.

"Ms. Gilmore, right this way. Mr. McDonough and Agent Wells are expecting you."

She was led past the half wall into a small conference room where the two men were already sitting. They rose to greet her, and over the Chief of Staff's shoulder she could see grey façade of the Eisenhower Executive building across the street.

"Thanks for coming, Rory. We thought meeting here would be less conspicuous than us barging into your office."

The other man, who she could only assume was Agent Wells, moved to shake her hand.

"Jermaine Wells, ma'am."

He must have been a football player, Rory thought to herself as his hand engulfed hers. He was easily 6'4" and what she guessed was 275 lbs. of solid muscle. His grey suit strained at the shoulders, and she didn't even want to contemplate what that bulge was under his left arm.

His smile was warm, however.

"Nice to meet you."

Rory settled herself in the chair across from theirs, and Agent Wells opened a file folder, pulling out a single sheet of paper.

"Ms. Gilmore, this arrived in this morning's mail, addressed to you."

He slid the sheet across the table towards Rory, and her heart nearly stopped. There inside the plastic, protective sleeve was another letter from her stalker.

She had seen enough of them to recognize the format; a short message, arranged like a poem, in an old dot-matrix printer font on tractor feed paper. Pretty much untraceable, the Atlanta police had told her when they first started arriving.

Rory steeled herself, and glanced at the letter.

 _Lorelai Leigh,_

 _You think that you have gotten away,_

 _From all the truths I have to say._

 _As you know it has always been my intention,_

 _To garner more of your worthy attention._

 _And though you have moved on to Capitol Hil,_

 _My affection for you grows stronger still._

 _I grow impatient to see you again._

 _Your faithful admirer,_

 _-N-_

She visibly shuddered and sat back from the table. Agent Wells slid the sheet back into the folder, probably hoping to spare her any more discomfort.

"Any mail without a return address automatically gets opened by the mail room. They notified the Secret Service immediately once it was read, and I got the call about a half hour ago. Now, I know you spoke with an agent about this issue before you started, but I wasn't sure if anyone else in your office knew, so I thought it best to do this away from the staff."

Rory nodded at Denis, still too shaken to open her mouth.

"I have to get back to my office, but I'll leave you in Agent Wells' capable hands." He paused beside her chair until she looked up at him.

"If you need anything, you know where to find me."

The Chief looked concerned, which worried Rory even more because he had a reputation of being unshakable in a crisis. He laid his hand on her shoulder for a minute before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Agent Wells pulled out a yellow, legal pad and began writing notes, the clicking sound of his pen bringing her eyes up to him once again.

"Are you ok to answer some questions, Ms. Gilmore?"

She raised an eyebrow. "It seems you're about to ask me some personal questions, so it's Rory. Please."

He smiled a little at that, his bright white teeth contrasting sharply with his dark skin.

"Only if you call me Jermaine."

At her nod, he continued.

"Okay, so I just want to go over things from the beginning if that's alright? So I can be sure I have all the facts straight?"

"That's fine."

"You've received letters like these before?"

Rory nodded, letting her mind search back in time. "Yes. The first one came about 3 weeks after I started at CNN."

"And how many have you gotten, in total?"

"4, so this one makes 5."

Jermaine wrote a few notes on his pad, and then looked up to her again. "Have they all looked like this?"

"Yes. The paper, the font, the format of the message – all the same." Rory's shoulders gave an involuntary shiver.

"And the Atlanta PD investigated?"

She nodded again. "Detective Transon looked into it, but he said the letters were untraceable. They never really threaten anything overt, per se, so there wasn't much else for them to go on, I guess."

He sighed, and jotted down a few more words. "Well, I'm going to get the evidence transferred here anyway, so we can have a second look. But they're right that there's no direct threat. It's just a creepy poem, for now."

"Right. It's not even a good poem…"

Agent Wells chuckled and put his pen down. "Look, there isn't technically anything for me to investigate, but that doesn't mean I'm going to drop it. This building is a tight knit family. We take care of our own."

Rory couldn't quite force herself to smile, but his assertion helped her relax a tiny amount.

"Staffers don't usually get official protection details, but we take on security issues on a case by case basis. As of now, you're on my roster."

"I'm sorry, your what?"

He grinned at her. "Consider me your personal security advisor."

She shook her head, not really understanding. "But you said yourself there isn't anything to investigate."

"That doesn't mean we can't make sure you're as safe as you can be."

Jermaine sat back, unbuttoning his blazer and giving Rory a glimpse of his gun holster. She raised her eyebrows, but his smile drew her eyes back to his face.

"You just moved to DC, right? Still live alone?"

"Yes."

"Have a deadbolt on your door? On the building's main door?"

She frowned a little. "No."

"Have a security system in your home?"

"No, but…"

"Ok, so that's something we can improve on."

She sat up a little straighter. "I don't think I really need…"

"Rory, you have to take this seriously."

"But he hasn't threatened me!"

Germaine shook his head, but his expression remained firm. "I know. And I'm not trying to scare you, but something about this bugs me. And in this job, I've learned to trust my gut."

She slumped back into her chair, defeated. "A security system, huh?"

"Yes."

"Are we talking Fort Knox, or can I still walk around without having to dodge laser beams?"

He smiled again, and Rory found herself smiling back.

"You won't even notice it's there, I promise."

"Okay."

"I'd like to come and do an inspection in person, if that's alright?"

Rory's head was still swimming with all of this new information, so she just nodded.

"I'm on shift until 7 tonight. I could swing by afterwards, or we can set another time?"

"No, no. Tonight works, I guess."

He frowned a little, examining her face. "You ok?"

"It's just a lot to take in. I mean, I wasn't worried before, but now it seems like something real, something… scary."

"Don't worry. Your apartment is about to become the safest one on the block." Jermaine's grin was back, and while she was still on edge, it did ease her mind that he seemed capable and confident.

She turned back to him as they walked out of the conference room. "I'll still be working at 7, so just come by my office to remind me it's time to leave."

"Will do. See you later, Rory."

Her mind felt blurry as she returned back down the nondescript hallway. At the bottom of the stairs, she heard Perry's voice, and did an abrupt 180 degree turn to avoid him. Another confrontation with him was the last thing she needed this morning. The outside door was directly in front of her, and she punched through it into the Rose Garden without much thought.

The cold air brought her to a halt, and she tugged her blazer tighter around her shoulders. After a few deep breaths, she felt more in control and sat down on one of the stone benches to think about her new situation.

Someone was officially stalking her.

Before, she could convince herself that it was just an overzealous fan; someone who didn't realize how creepy their messages were. But they had followed her to a new job, in a new city. And the poems had only gotten more disturbing. No, this clearly wasn't just a super fan anymore. Add that to the Secret Service taking an interest, and her anxiety ratcheted up even higher.

She considered Agent Wells, and his 'gut feeling' that this wasn't someone to mess around with. He seemed very confident in his ability to make her safe, like a big brother taking care of a bully. But this protector carried a gun, and looked like he could tear a person apart with his bare hands if the notion struck him.

And he wanted her to have a security system installed. It wasn't a bad idea, really. Coming from a small town as she did, however, it seemed like a much bigger deal. Sometimes she still had to remind herself that she lived in a big city, where you couldn't leave a key under the frog by the front door.

And he just _had_ to make that observation about her living alone. It had never bothered her before, but being reminded of it, in a personal security sense, made her bristle. She could take care of herself… couldn't she? All of a sudden, she wasn't so sure.

Rory pulled out her phone, instinctively needing to talk it out with someone. She had her mom's contact open in an instant, and nearly pressed the call button, but something held her back. Lorelai had enough to worry about without a medium-sized freak out from her. And her mom would be even more concerned because she couldn't be there in person to make sure her daughter was safe. Rory didn't want to load more worry and responsibility onto her shoulders, if she could help it. Besides, she was a grown up now. She could handle this on her own.

 _I grow impatient to see you again._

Rory pulled her jacket even tighter and hugged her arms around her own shoulders. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get that line out of her head. It implied something terrifying, something that made her shiver just thinking about it. She had met this person before. Somewhere, in her daily life of interacting with people, she had come face to face with her stalker. And they just blended into the crowd.

She toyed with her phone as two hot tears streaked down her face. She realized that she was scared, genuinely scared of some faceless, nameless, talentless poet who seemed determined to mess with her mind. Even though it was probably selfish, she seriously contemplating calling her mother again. Sometimes, no matter how grown up they were, people just needed their mothers.

Her thumb flicked through her contacts, with no real intent, thinking and re-thinking, until she came to his name. He had told her to call anytime. And this certainly qualified as anytime. She cursed herself as it started ringing, thinking it was foolish to call him, particularly about this.

After three rings, she heard his impatient voicemail greeting.

"This is Jess. I'm busy. Leave a message."

She cleared her throat, and desperately tried not to sound desperate.

"Hey, it's Rory. Just had a crappy morning and wanted to chat – not a big deal. Yeah, so, talk to you later maybe. Bye."

When the call ended, she dropped her face into her hands.

 _Just breathe deep. Everything is under control. Deep breaths, in and out. In and out._

Her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her out of whatever relaxation she had achieved. When she noticed who was calling, her heart leapt, but she decided to ignore the feeling for right now.

"Hi –"

"What's wrong?"

Jess' scratchy voice cut her off, and made her think that maybe she'd woken him up.

"Nothing. What do you mean?"

He sighed in annoyance. "Do you remember that time your mom went away with Sookie for the weekend, and you called me at 2am because you thought you saw someone in the back yard?"

Rory gulped. "Yes."

"That's what your message sounded like just now. So spill."

"I, uh," she licked her lips, trying to find the words. "It's not a big deal, really. I just have a stalker, it seems, and.."

"You have a what?" He certainly sounded awake now, his voice taking on some of the urgency she was feeling.

"A stalker. It's kind of funny, actually. I mean, I guess celebrities have them all the time." She knew her voice was brittle, but humour was the only defense she had left.

There was a beat of silence from his end, and Rory chewed her bottom lip.

"Yes, you're definitely a big shot now. Went and got yourself a new stalker."

She laughed in that tense, awkward way people do sometimes, when emotions get to be too much to handle. But she was grateful that he had played along. Even when they were kids, he had always seemed to understand when she needed a laugh to get through difficult times. He let her quiet down before speaking again.

"Are you ok?" She recognized from his tone that he was very serious, and somehow his concern relaxed her a little.

"Yeah, I guess. I have to put in a security system at my new place."

"That's a good idea."

"I know. It's just… how can an alarm make me feel more scared than I was before? Aren't alarms supposed to make you feel safe?"

Jess sighed again, and she imagined him running his hands through his hair like he used to when they debated something. "In theory, sure. But if their existence makes an abstract fear more concrete, I can see how you'd feel that way."

Rory smiled. "Damn you and your logical thinking."

He chuckled under his breath, sounding tired. "Isn't that why you called?"

"No. Yes. I guess."

"You're very decisive today, Ror. No pro/con lists lying around to help you out?"

She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was on a warm beach somewhere, or at a café with a book in her hand – and preferably talking to Jess about anything other than her security problems.

"No. This kind of caught me by surprise."

"Yeah, well – I think that's generally the stalker M.O., you know?"

They laughed quietly together, and she could hear him shifting position, like he was lying down.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Maybe. I admit nothing. And besides, I'm a writer. Everyone knows we do our best work at night. I'm allowed to sleep until noon if I want."

She smacked her own forehead. "Shoot! It's noon already? I'm late for my next meeting."

"That's fine, Gilmore. Wake me up and then ditch me. I can only take so much of this abuse, you know."

She sat up straighter on the bench and tried to rub some feeling back into her legs.

"Thanks for the chat, Jess."

"Anytime. I said it, and I meant it. You feeling better?"

Rory stood up and crunched her way along the gravel path back to the West Wing door.

"Yes. And that feeling might even continue until the Secret Service comes over after work to make me feel inadequate about my apartment's security."

He laughed again, and for a brief second, she allowed herself to imagine him lying in bed, warm and cozy in rumpled sheets.

"So call me again tonight, if you want."

Her breath caught in her throat, his deep voice tangling with the images in her head until she was warm in spite of the brisk weather.

"I won't be annoying you?"

"Don't ask stupid questions. Now get back to work."

She grinned, not caring that she probably looked silly. "Get back to sleep."

"Done."

"Bye."

She heard the smile in his voice too and they both ended the call at the same time. As she let herself back into the building, it occurred to her that maybe he had been trying to distract her, rather than make her feel better. Whatever his methods, it worked. Her steps were light as she walked back to her office and her busy day.


	8. Scheduling Some Time

**Chapter 8 – Scheduling Some Time**

After his unconventional wake-up call, Jess spent the rest of the day working at Truncheon. While he wished he could avoid it altogether, dealing with mind-numbing, day to day operational stuff couldn't be put off any longer.

"I really need that day off, man. I asked you about it weeks ago, and now I have to book a room and tickets and stuff."

Jess bit back the urge to growl at the kid. Whether or not Stephen got to go on a weekend road trip with his buddies wasn't even on his radar today.

"What does the schedule say?"

"Matt hasn't done a schedule more than 2 weeks ahead. No one can plan anything if we don't know when we're working."

Jess groaned and rubbed his eyes under his reading glasses. He was supposed to be reviewing a short story anthology today, to get it ready for publishing – not doing the HR equivalent of hand-holding.

"Ok, what day again?" Stephen told him, and he jotted it down in his notebook on a page titled 'Office Bullshit', which seemed only too appropriate. "I'll get the schedule done tonight for the next two months, and you'll have that day off, alright?"

"Thanks, boss! That's really great!"

When Stephen moved to hug him, Jess leaned backwards.

"Now, now. Let's not cross into sexual harassment territory. No touching is good touching, as far as I'm concerned."

Stephen turned and wandered off, muttering about crazy employers, and Jess just shook his head. This was getting out of control. He and the other two amigos had been carefully avoiding making any big business decisions, but Jess really didn't think they could bury their heads in the sand anymore.

With that in mind, he speed dialed Matt's cell.

"-Lo?"

"Hey, asshole. Where are you?"

Matt chuckled at Jess' gruff greeting. "Why? Missing me terribly?"

"Well, you know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow angry and hostile."

"Touché. So you just called to puff up my ego, or what?"

Jess sank into the desk chair and started doodling in his notebook. "Can you be back here at 4?"

"Probably," Matt drawled slowly, just to piss Jess off. "Is it important?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, is my continued mental health going to conflict with your social calendar?"

His business partner laughed again, and Jess was reminded why the two made such good friends.

"Don't get your panties in a twist. If it involves your precious melon, I can be back for 4. Hey, I might even bring coffee."

"Ok, good. Because you and I are going to sit down and call Chris, and we're all going to discuss our imploding management situation."

"There's a situation?"

This time, Jess really did growl. "You know damn well it's becoming a colossal fuck up. I am not the guy you want handling bills and staffing and shit."

"Ok, ok, fair enough," Matt sighed into the phone, "you're right. It's not working with all of us just covering anymore. I'm meeting with that new poet I told you about in about 10 minutes, and then I'll be back and we can come up with some sort of plan."

"Alright. Good. I'm in serious danger of slapping an employee or two if I have to keep worrying about schedules." Jess didn't bother to mention that he was always a hair's breadth away from smacking the stupid ones. He figured that was fairly well known.

"Keep it tamped down until later, Banning. At least until Captain America is there to subdue you."

Jess snorted. "And you're supposed to be Captain America? Are you serious?"

"Fuck you. Of course I'm Captain America."

"Right, whatever. Keep dreaming. See you later."

"Later."

Jess shot Chris a quick text to make sure the time worked for him as well. Then he put his cell down and pulled his notebook closer, scribbling out an idea of the duties that needed to be taken off their hands. Bill payments, payroll, scheduling, dealing with the printer and advertising were all on his mind, along with organizing events, outreach to new talent and maintaining friendly contact with their previously published artists. The last two had dropped to embarrassing levels lately, reflecting on their business in a way he wasn't comfortable with.

After a few minutes of writing, Jess sat back and laughed. Rory would be so proud of him, sitting there making lists. He had even numbered the items to prioritize them. Get him a coloured marker and he would practically be a teenaged girl. He begrudgingly admitted that she was right, though. Getting the list down on paper made him feel less stressed out. Well, maybe just a little further away from an impromptu murder spree, but it was an improvement.

Their earlier conversation ran through his head and he dropped his pen again. He didn't like her tone in that voicemail message. Not one bit. Despite the years and space, he would probably always feel protective of her, and that scared, faking-a-smile Rory voice set his heart pounding. Where she was, she probably had the best protection possible, but it still didn't sit well with him.

Jess raked his hands through his hair, trying to forget that she was potentially in danger and how that made him feel. He had no business worrying about her anymore. It was a hard habit to break, however. She'd been in bad situations before, brought about by working in high-profile places that therefore became obvious targets. That hoax anthrax scare in 2012 had cleared the WhiteHouse and other DC government buildings. Sure, it turned out to be nothing, but after getting a call from a panicking Luke, he was glued to his TV for longer than he cared to admit.

His chest hurt, remembering the fear, and he rubbed his hand across his sternum. It was useless to fight it. She sucked him in like a black hole if he ever dared to get too close, even a fraction out of his acquaintance orbit. Granted, she was a lot easier on the eyes than he imagined a black hole would be, but her gravitational pull on him was no less impressive.

She didn't do it intentionally. They just couldn't fight the connection that kept bringing them together. The closer they got, the stronger it yanked at their hearts, until they slammed into one another and one or both of them got hurt. At least, Jess assumed that her heart felt the same pull as his. She seemed to be as affected as he was, but there had never been any confirmation, really. _I think I might have loved you_ was hardly a declaration on the same scale as the ones he'd foolishly made to her. Maybe she really was just an unknowing black hole, pulling in unsuspecting but willing hearts, only to be surprised when they bounced off her and slingshotted away in broken pieces.

He blinked suddenly, surfacing from the depressing monologue in his head. He really needed to stop reading Charlotte Bronte before bed. It was starting to affect his mood, and he didn't need any help being moody.

For the next hour, he concentrated his efforts on fleshing out the staffing ideas he had, coming up with justifications for the arguments he knew Matt and Chris would bring up. And before Jess could get back into the anthology, Matt returned and sprawled at the desk across the room.

"Well, that was a fucking waste of time."

Jess raised an eyebrow at the dramatics. "No new poet?"

"The guy tried to pitch a series of long, angsty epics about killing the world with fossil fuels." Matt rolled his eyes and let his head fall back in mock exhaustion.

"At least he's topical?"

Jess' partner snorted and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "He wrote in iambic pentameter to 'channel Shakespeare'. When I asked him which of the plays had influenced him the most, he said 'the one with Mel Gibson'."

Jess just laughed. "You can't be serious."

"I can't make this shit up. Honestly, what is wrong with people? It's like we're living in an intellectual vacuum."

"Ok. So, no new poet."

Matt raised his head briefly. "I thought that's what I just said."

"Right. Let's just call Chris and get this over with, yeah?"

As he dialed, he watched Matt pull the bottle of scotch from his bottom desk drawer and pour a short glass for himself. He declined when the bottle was offered his way. Considering his melancholy trip earlier, drinking didn't seem like the best idea.

"Yo, brothers. What's up?"

Chris' voice sounded tinny through the speaker phone, but Jess was happy to hear it. Of the three, Jess and Chris were the closest, and he missed his friend more than he cared to admit. Boston was too far away when he had writer's block at three in the morning or when Chris needed help being tough with an author and wanted to discuss it over pizza and beers. Technology was great, but it just wasn't the same.

"Hey, man. How's it going up there?"

"It's cold. And the women don't like me."

"Uh oh," Matt chuckled, "your charm doesn't work on Ivy League girls?"

Chris groaned like he was dying. "They're IMMUNE! Bring me HOME!"

"We're working on it, man." Jess pulled out his list and tapped his pen against his notebook. "Ok, so we all know this isn't working. We're stretched thin, and I don't know about you, but I'm not cut out for office management."

The other two grunted their agreement, and Jess took a deep breath of courage. "I think we need to hire at least two people."

"What the hell?"

"Have you arranged for the printer to print money for us instead of books?"

Jess glared across the room at Matt. "Before you both go off half-cocked, let me explain what I'm thinking."

"Fine," Chris barked back through the speaker. Matt just threw his hands up in surrender.

"I've got a list of all the stuff we need someone to take care of, and considering the travel required to move between all three places, it makes sense to have one person in Boston, and another either here or in New York."

When there was no further yelling, he continued.

"Boston needs the most help, and we're all pretty firm that no one wants to move there permanently." His partners again indicated their agreement, with a nod and corresponding silence from the phone. "I think we should hire a Store Manager to run Boston as its own location. They can handle staffing and small events, advertising, etc. We can travel there to meet with authors when needed, but no one would have to go on a regular basis."

Chris spoke up at that. "Thank GOD. I'm sure Beantown is a great place for some, but it's just not working for me."

"So we've heard," Matt yelled, "pretty much non-stop since you left!"

"Calm down, you two. Chris, you know we appreciate you taking the bullet and moving there for a bit to get the store running."

"Yeah, well... someone had to do it."

Jess fought the urge to swear as he talked his partners down from the ledge. Usually he was the hot head in this type of discussion.

"Ok. New York is running pretty well on its own. Casey has made noise about wanting more responsibility, and she's practically supervising everyone else there anyway, so I think we should change her title to Team Lead or something. She can handle scheduling and any other emergencies that pop up there."

Matt nodded along as he listened to Jess' plan. "Yeah, she's awesome right?"

"Don't even think about it!" Jess leveled an accusing finger in his friend's direction. "The employees are off limits, especially the good ones!"

"What?! I didn't do anything!"

Chris chuckled as Matt backpedalled. "Go mack on somebody else. We can't afford to lose her!"

Jess took another deep breath. Trying to get anything done as a group was always like herding cats. It was impossible to keep everyone on the same track.

"Ok, so that's Boston and New York covered. But there's still HR here and all the general, business crap we don't have time for. So I think we should also hire a Business Manager to be based here in Philly, that will do basic scheduling and stuff for this location, as well as bookkeeping and whatever else we need for the business overall."

Matt was nodding again, but Chris wasn't buying it.

"Why do we need someone else? I mean, if all the HR from the other cities is off our hands, won't we have time to do the business stuff amongst ourselves?"

Jess sighed. "I don't know what you like doing in your spare time, but I personally don't want to write another business cheque again. Ever."

"Yeah, Chris. I think he's right."

"Well, colour me surprised." Jess raised his eyebrows, not used to Matt backing him up. Usually he and Chris sided together, and Matt was the lone voice of dissention.

In the intervening silence, Matt leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Chris, you and I started Truncheon because we wanted to discover new talent, right? Give people a chance that wouldn't normally get noticed. It was fine while we were small, and we could run the business along with developing artists. But now it's just spiralling out of control, and we've lost sight of our original vision."

Jess agreed. In fact, it was one of several arguments he had stashed in his back pocket in the event that the other two refused to hire someone. He was still shocked that Matt's mind had gone there too, but he wasn't going to pretend he didn't appreciate this partner's support, for once.

Chris was undeterred, however.

"I get that there's a lot of work, but I feel like the company is slipping away from us. I miss the old days where it was just the three of us in Philly, living and breathing the dream, you know?"

The memories hit Jess hard as they washed over him. That first day, walking into the dirty, half-underground space where Matt was trying to move bookshelves by himself while Chris yelled at the printer on the phone. They had treated him like a real human being, worthy of their interest and care. They told him his writing had promise, and they were excited about publishing it. It was the first time since he left Connecticut that he felt like he might be ok.

"I miss that too. That's why I really think we need to hire these people – so we can get back to something like we were before. The three of us, writing and editing and encouraging artists that are just like we used to be."

He and Matt held their breath, waiting for Chris to break down and admit they were right. It took less time than Jess thought.

"So," Chris' disembodied voice grumbled in defeat, "how are we going to find these magical new employees?"

"I think Jess should be in charge of that."

He whipped his head around, to find Matt grinning cheerfully at him.

"What? C'mon Jess! You have this _list_ and everything. I think you're the man for the job."

From Boston, Chris enthusiastically agreed. Luckily for him, Jess' murderous glare didn't translate through speaker phone.

"Fine," he spat through his teeth. "I'll get a list of people together, but you'll both have to be here for interviews."

"There you go with that _list_ word again. I didn't even know you knew what that meant." Matt's teasing laughter didn't improve Jess' mood.

"He has a point, man. Maybe you missed your calling as an accountant. Or Santa…"

"So glad we could have this friendly chat. Bye, Chris." He hit the end button, cutting his friend off mid-sentence.

Matt's giggling continued until he noticed Jess putting on his coat.

"Oh c'mon! You know we're just teasing."

"Uh huh, whatever." Jess slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, intent on getting out the front door before his annoyance boiled over.

"Seriously. You really are the right choice to handle this." Matt laid his hands on Jess' shoulders, effectively stopping his escape. "You've been covering the business angle more than either of us. You know best what we need, so of course we're going to trust you to pick the right people."

Jess nodded, understanding this was Matt's way of apologizing. And in truth, it was nice to hear his friends had that kind of confidence in him. He still thought of them as the original owners of Truncheon, with himself as the side-note, tag-along.

"Just make sure they're hot, ok? Chris and I could use some eye candy."

He rolled his eyes and punched Matt on the shoulder.

"I'm going to head home. I can't get any reading done here, and I need to have the final edits done for tomorrow."

Matt nodded and shoved him out the door. "Then get moving, slacker."

On his walk home, Jess smiled to himself about how lucky he was to find Truncheon and the guys when he did. After his first book all but exploded out of him and onto the page, he felt like a raw nerve. The writing had brought up emotions and regrets and resentments that he didn't know he had. Afterwards he was on his own and all of his walls and bravado were gone, leaving him feeling more alone than he ever had before.

And then, in a kismet-like coincidence, he was flipping through a local arts newspaper at a coffee shop, as a way of delaying his return 'home' to the backseat of his car. And there it was: a tiny ad looking for aspiring authors and artists, with an address on Locust Street. He'd been carrying around what he euphemistically called his 'manuscript' for almost 4 months, working odd jobs but never making enough to make ends meet.

He drove to the address before he was even finished that cup of coffee, and was greeted by a hand-written sign taped to the front door.

And inside was his salvation.

He shook his head at the crazy path his life had taken, and walked into the market at the end of his block. The kid behind the counter nodded in recognition. It was strange, Jess thought, being a regular somewhere and that status not making his skin crawl. Until recently, he had strived for anonymity - just a nameless face in the city, one of thousands. But now, his life felt different. He belonged, perhaps for the first time ever, and he had his friends and his business to thank.

He grabbed the usual staples; milk, bread, coffee, eggs. He wasn't planning on leaving his apartment until the final read-through was done, and there was nothing in the house to eat. He grabbed a bag of apples as well, Luke's voice in his head always stern about eating better. As he walked back up the junk food aisle, on his way to the register, his eyes flicked briefly to the left.

Pop-tarts.

He'd long ago given up trying to avoid everything that made him think of her. He worked with books, for god sake, so there was no avoiding that. Even so, it surprised him that otherwise innocuous items could still evoke some nostalgic response in him. He stopped in front of the shelf and looked at all the disgusting flavours.

Chocolate strawberry? Seriously?! Marshmallow Fluff? Was that even food?!

Jess rolled his eyes and continued on to the checkout, and then up the street to his building. The divided row houses had always been desirable, but this neighbourhood was still a little too gritty for most yuppies, which suited him just fine. He and the guys had all moved out of Truncheon a few years ago to their own, individual places, turning their formerly shared apartment into storage and a writing space for those that didn't have one.

He climbed the three flights of stairs at a brisk pace. At first, the lack of elevator had been a serious problem, but soon it just became part of his everyday routine. Other things had become predictable in his life, too. Every morning (or afternoon, as the case was lately) when he got up, he would do a page from his fitness calendar. It was a gag gift from Luke a couple of Christmases ago, with a different exercise for each day. Sometimes it was push ups, other times it was crunches or lunges. The worst days were leg days, but he religiously did those too. It usually only took 15 minutes, but it felt like he was accomplishing something – not to mention making the stairs less of a chore.

He still wrote regularly too, but he had gotten more methodical about it. After his quick workout and shower, he would sit with his notebook and scribble a few pages over his cereal and coffee. The topic varied; sometimes, if there was no particular focus in his mind, he would quickly Google a writing prompt. Often though, he would have an idea swirling around or something he was actively working on. Considering all of the extra business duties he had taken on lately, sometimes it was the only chance he got on a busy day to write at all.

His top floor apartment wasn't homey in the traditional sense, but it was home. Jess was slowly adding real furniture as his budget allowed, his most recent purchase being the distressed leather chair that received his messenger bag as he came in the door. After all of his groceries were safely put away, he sunk into his chair and put his feet up on the woven footstool. He refused to call it a _pouf_ , even though the woman at the store asserted that's what it was. With his head leaning back onto the smooth cushion, he surveyed his apartment.

Home. The word didn't exactly roll off his tongue, even after living here for nearly 5 years. He had never really had a home before, so there was nothing to compare it to. It was the place he came back to every night, where he hung his clothes and stacked his books. If that made it a home, then he supposed that's what it was.

And, upon further reflection, it was starting to look remarkably like Luke's office above the diner. Everything was dark – 'moody' as that saleslady had called it. The floors and trim were all dark wood, befitting the age of the building. The furniture was all various shades of brown or dark grey. Even the one exposed brick wall had darkened over time.

He liked to think of it as masculine, but maybe he was actually going for cozy – a misguided attempt to give his space the warmth it was missing. He avoided thinking too much about why it didn't feel warm, but the voice on his shoulder didn't listen.

 _Rory and Lorelai's house always felt warm._

Jess snorted. That part was true. Even when their furnace was broken, the house felt warm; loved, lived in and warm. That's what it came down to, apparently. His apartment was his, and all of his stuff fit inside it, but he didn't really _live_ in it. Friends didn't stop by unannounced, there were no impromptu dinners around his kitchen table or movie nights on his couch. Despite belonging in this city, and in this apartment, it still didn't feel like home.

Maybe in time, with the right person…

He quickly shook himself out of that train of thought. The only stops along the track were hope, expectation and disappointment. And he had work to do.

As he often did, he buried himself in paper and words, losing almost 5 hours and most of his introspection. When his cell phone rang just after 10:00pm, he jerked his head up in surprise. The windows were dark, as was the rest of his apartment. He hadn't bothered to turn on many lights when he got home, so the pool around his chair was the only bright spot in the room.

His mouth quirked up at the corner when he saw who was calling.

"Hey, Ms. Bigshot."

Rory laughed under her breath. "Hi, yourself. I hope this isn't too late."

"Nah. This is barely the middle of the afternoon. How was your inspection? Did they bounce quarters off your bed or what?"

"Ha ha. No, but there were a lot of grumpy faces when I mentioned I sometimes like to leave my bedroom window open at night."

He set aside the partially finished stack of pages, settling back against the cushions. "I'll bet. You might as well hang a sign outside that says 'Stalkers Enter Here'."

"Ugh," she groaned, "I'm not famous enough to have a stalker. This is ridiculous!"

"The men with the earpieces swarming over your apartment would suggest otherwise."

"Yeah, I guess. I just don't understand it. Why did this person choose me, of all the reporters out there?"

Jess gave it a second of thought. "I've caught enough episodes of CSI: Whatever to know that there's never any particular reason. Maybe you smiled at him once and the voice in his head told him you were destined to be together."

"Oh god! Do you really think that's true?"

He laughed. "I don't know, Ror. Stranger things have happened."

She silently chewed on his words for a while, probably upset by the idea that she had somehow encouraged a nutjob to follow her.

"So, did they come up with a plan for an alarm?"

"Oh, yes. There's a guy coming tomorrow to put in sensors and motion detectors and deadbolts and god knows what else. Maybe even laser beams."

He raised his eyebrow at her last comment. "Lasers, huh? Please tell me you'll have to wear a catsuit to climb through them when you get home every night?"

Jess heard her draw in a quick breath, just as he realized what he'd said. Shit. The flirty banter always came naturally to them, so that he never really considered censoring what he said to her. Shit, shit. Engaging his brain first was about to become his new mantra.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she beat him to it.

"Well… probably not every day. But I'll keep that in mind for Halloween."

Of course he couldn't see it, but he would swear she just winked at him. The breath he was holding came out long and slow. "Geez, Gilmore. You're killing me over here."

She just laughed in her soft, feminine way, and the crisis was averted. His jeans were now a little uncomfortable, however.

"So – alarms, sensors. Are they going to station a big guy outside your door?"

"No. No doorman for Casa Rory. But I get an impressive looking control panel in the front room that lights up, and sensors in every corner to monitor my movements."

"Sounds… high tech."

She sighed. "Sounds like I'm the one in prison."

"No, it sounds safe, which is probably for the best." Jess knew she was scared and frustrated, but he was glad the inspection had been thorough.

"Yeah, I know." Rory sniffed and he could hear her shifting around. "So, tell me something interesting about you. How's work going?"

 _And… serious topic over_ , he thought to himself.

"It'll be getting better soon, I hope."

"Why? Are you stuck on something you're writing?"

He ignored the weird flutter he felt when she sounded genuinely concerned and interested.

"No, actually I haven't had much time to write recently, which is kind of the problem. The business is getting too much for us to handle, between the three of us."

"Oh," she breathed. "But that's a good thing, right? Doing well and being busy?"

"Busy is great, unless you're the one doing things like scheduling and bill paying."

" _You're_ the one dealing with employees and suppliers and, well… people?"

Rory sounded incredulous, and he could see her point. He'd always resisted helping Luke with anything involving business at the diner. He didn't have the patience or the interest for it. But when it was his own business, he couldn't look to anyone else to pick up the slack.

"Laugh all you want, I'm a regular people person now. In fact, I'm in charge of hiring two managers in the next few weeks."

She couldn't contain her laughter. "You're a _people_ person?" she squeaked. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. What exactly are you implying?"

"From what I remember, you couldn't be _less_ of a people person. You are, indeed, an island as I recall."

"Ok. That's enough."

"In fact, I'm pretty sure the Unabomber took lessons from you. Loner doesn't even begin to describe—"

"I get your point, Gilmore," Jess grumbled. "But people grow up. And hey, I liked the occasional person when I was younger."

She grew quiet, and he realized he'd verbally stepped in something sticky.

"Yeah, I remember." Her voice was so small, he nearly missed it.

He hated this awkwardness between them. They had successfully avoided it for almost 10 years by not talking about anything real, or just not talking at all. Like a mud puddle they were always teetering on the edge of, it was time to steer the conversation away from their murky past.

"So. How's work going in the big, fancy office? Still feeling the nerves?"

She sighed. "It's ok. I'm just waiting for that moment that screams 'Hey! I don't suck at this anymore!'."

"Way to stay positive."

"Yeah, well. That's me: Miss Optimism. So, you said you have to hire some new people?"

"Apparently," he grimaced, "although I've never actively looked for staff before."

"But surely you have employees now. Where did they come from?"

"Our cloning machine in the back."

"Come on," she giggled.

"No, really. Before, we would just hang a Help Wanted sign in the window, and people would come in and ask. But these jobs are more serious, have more responsibility. I don't want to take out a vague ad in the paper or online."

"Right."

"I also don't want to have to wade through resumes of the unqualified hordes in the hopes of finding a couple of non-Neanderthals."

He shook his head at the thought of the hours he would need to spend on this project, as the business continued to struggle.

"I know what you should do."

She sounded so confident that he sat up a little straighter. "I'm all ears."

"Why don't you try a placement agency?"

"I'm not looking for a mindless office-bot." Jess crinkled his nose. "And besides, these jobs aren't temporary."

"That doesn't matter," she chided. "They have people looking for permanent spots too. And that way, someone has already vetted their resumes and called their references."

The idea honestly hadn't crossed his mind, but it was a good one. "You really think that would work?"

"Absolutely. I've used them a couple of times, looking for assistants, and CNN had one agency practically on speed dial to fill office spots."

"Okay. Thanks, Ror. I'll make some calls tomorrow. If it saves me reading through a stack of dud resumes, I'll owe you."

She cleared her throat deliberately and he instinctively braced himself for whatever she might say next.

"Maybe you can take me for dinner when you're in DC. When might that be, anyway?"

He certainly wasn't expecting her to say that! Jess wasn't an idiot, however. He knew this was dangerous territory. Still, she had opened the door for him. His instinct was to barge right through even though impulsiveness had never served them well. He liked to think he was smarter than that now, especially after all their time apart. But the truth was he still couldn't resist her pull. And what's more, tonight he didn't really want to.

"Eager to see me, are you?"

She hesitated briefly and he held his breath, mentally crossing his fingers that she wouldn't lose her nerve or change her mind.

"Well, that depends. Are you going to make it worth my while?"

Her voice was silky smooth and Jess froze in his chair. Rory Gilmore was flirting with him, teasing in a way she'd never had the confidence for when they were kids. His adult body responded and his teenage hoodlum grinned wolfishly.

"I'm sure I can keep you interested."

She chuckled, and his blood warmed even further. "I have no doubt."

"I'm meeting with my agent tomorrow, actually. I'll text you the dates so you can squeeze me into your busy calendar." Jess ran his hand through his hair, surprised and pleased at the turn in their conversation.

"Well, I _am_ very important now. But I think I can probably make time for you."

"You _think_?"

His question got the anticipated response, and he confirmed to himself that her laughter was still the best thing he'd ever heard.

"I'll watch for your text tomorrow."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too. But I should probably go. I have an early call with the Americas Desk at the BBC."

He rolled his eyes. "Does that ever not sound weird?"

"What?"

" _I have an early call with the BBC_. Does a person get used to saying things like that, or is it always a little bit unreal?"

"You're one to talk, Mr. Three-Appearances-on-GMA-In-One-Year. Does _that_ ever not feel weird?"

He considered his amazingly good fortune, and shook his head. "Nope. Always weird."

"Well, there you go, then."

"Alright, go get your beauty sleep. I'll text you tomorrow."

"Can't wait. Bye, Jess."

"Night, Rory."

He let the phone slide down into his lap and leaned his body back into the worn leather. What the hell had just happened? There was nothing overtly said, nothing he could nail down, but it was still the best conversation he'd had with a girl in longer than he could remember. In fact, he could still feel the stupid smile on his face. Luckily here in the dark, alone in his apartment, he had no reason to hide it.

Dinner. With Rory. He was having dinner with Rory.

Jess' internal alarm bells were ringing loud and clear, but he didn't care. This felt too good and right now he felt too alive to worry about hypothetical consequences.

Maybe this thing between them had life in it yet.


	9. Sheep monitor

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews, as always. I love to hear that people are reading and enjoying my writing. I've got this story mapped out for many more chapters to come, so I hope you stick with me!**

 **Chapter 9 – Sheep monitor**

Rory struggled with her new key, trying to juggle her bag and coffee mug while unlocking the shiny deadbolt on the building's front door. Jermaine had dropped the key in her office earlier that afternoon, using his smile to get through her reluctance and general unhappiness about her new security reality. And the agent's smile was pretty effective, she had to admit. Even Angelique, who she knew to be a very happily married woman, took a few extra seconds to appreciate the view he presented as he walked out.

The lock gave way relatively easily, letting her into the foyer cum lobby. The other two renters in the building were also given new keys, she was told, along with a discreet background check by the friendly Secret Service. Once through her own apartment's front door, after battling with _another_ new deadbolt, she came face to face with her state-of-the-art alarm system.

Rory scrambled in her pocket for the post-it Jermaine had given her, spurred on by the panel's ominous beeping. The supplied 1-2-3-4-5 code seemed too simple to be effective, but thankfully the beeping stopped and she could breathe normally again. As instructed, she pushed the Home button to secure the doors and windows, but leave the motion sensors inactive, and started dropping her purse, coat and shoes on her way through to the kitchen.

The coffee machine was always pre-loaded and ready to go, and she turned it on, needing a cup rather badly after her long day. While she waited for the water to start dripping, she pulled out her phone, surveying the emails that had arrived on her commute home. She was busy typing a response to the _Wall Street Journal's_ International Business section head when the phone rang in her hand. The caller showed as 'Private', but that wasn't unusual in DC. Still, she was slightly apprehensive as she answered.

"Hello?"

"Rory, it's Agent Wells."

She breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the counter. "Oh, hi. I just got home. Everything worked fine, thank you."

He cleared his throat. "I know."

"You do? How did you—"

"Your alarm panel is wired to the monitoring company, but also to the Secret Service operations office."

She rolled her eyes, praying for the coffee machine to hurry up. "Of course it is."

"It's just in case of emergency, which we're not anticipating. But it's better to be safe."

"Right. So everyone in your office will know when I come and go from my own home?"

"Well, only if they're really looking." He had the decency to sound apologetic. "If you have time now, I'll walk you through changing the code to something you'll remember."

Rory pulled a mug from the cupboard and tapped her fingers on the counter. That coffee really couldn't finish soon enough for her.

"I think I'll remember 1-2-3-4-5 just fine."

Jermaine cleared his throat again. "That's just the factory setting. You need something harder to guess, otherwise there's no point."

"Oh. Right." She sighed, his tone making her feel a like a little kid that you had to explain things to very simply and slowly. "Ok, sure. Let's do that now."

His instructions were easy to follow, and after a few seconds of thinking, she decided on a new code and inputted it into the control panel.

"I'm sure you know this, but don't tell anyone else the code, and don't write it down anywhere."

Rory wanted to respond in the sarcastic voice running through her head, but then she remembered he was just trying to be helpful. And none of this was his fault to begin with.

"I won't. Thanks again, Jermaine. I'm feeling much safer already."

"Well, that's my job."

She could hear him smiling, and found it hard to stay annoyed with him for this intrusion into her life.

"If anything happens, day or night, I want you to call my cell, ok? Even if I'm off duty, it will get routed to my coverage."

"Ok. Thank you again for everything." She hoped with everything she had that she would never need to use that number, but it was nice to know there was someone looking out for her.

"Anytime."

They both paused, and Rory felt like she should make some sort of apology for her stubbornness. He really was going out of his way to worry about her situation, taking it on in addition to his regular workload.

"So, I guess the President probably doesn't complain like this when you tell him he can't go and get a burger whenever he wants, hmm?"

Jermaine laughed sharply. "Are you kidding? POTUS sneaks out more than you might imagine. His personal detail has a hell of a time… shit."

"What?"

"I shouldn't have said any of that." He sounded anguished that he might have revealed more than he should have, somehow compromising the President's security.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything," Rory rushed to reassure him. "I've seen the In and Out bags in the trash outside his office. His love of burgers is well known, trust me."

"Yeah, well, I just meant that no one takes it well when their freedoms are restricted to keep them safe. Not even him."

She smiled as she considered the President being told he couldn't do something. "Good to know I'm nothing special, then."

"I wouldn't say that."

Rory's eyes widened as she realized what he'd said. Combined with his tone, there was an implication that was completely unexpected, and she really wasn't sure how to handle it. After waiting for what was probably 2 seconds too long, she chickened out and decided to avoid the topic altogether.

"I'll probably see you around tomorrow, then."

"Maybe. I'm working in the afternoon."

Was she crazy, or did he sound disappointed? But he couldn't possibly mean…

"Goodnight Rory."

"Ok. Bye, Jermaine."

She hung up quickly and stared at her phone, as if she could interpret his meaning just by watching her own reflection in the screen. Surely he was just being friendly. Granted, she'd never had a security advisor before, but she didn't imagine it was kosher for them to have any sort of personal relationship. And why was she even worrying about this? She had Jess. Didn't she?

 _Jess._

He still hadn't texted her today as he'd promised. She had tried not to be consciously waiting all day, but found herself regularly checking her phone anyway. Maybe he'd forgotten. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe whatever was happening between them didn't mean as much to him as she thought. Maybe he was out with another girl and was too busy being interested in her…

 _Stop. Just stop._

Rory followed her nose back to the finished pot of coffee and left her doubts with the alarm panel by the front door. Just the smell made her shoulders relax. She really didn't want to stay awake any longer than absolutely necessary, but coffee was more of a comfort than a stimulant at this point. As she sipped, she tried to wipe out the memory of her day.

The Benghazi Congressional Hearing had been going since the early morning and while she didn't technically work for Secretary Clinton, the White House was predictably very interested in how things were proceeding. She must have called the Press Corps together a dozen times throughout the day to speak on various items that had come to light. After all those questions, and all that attention, she was exhausted.

To make matters worse, she hadn't slept particularly well the night before. Her brain was too wound up in whatever was developing between her and Jess to shut down long enough to let sleep happen. In between briefings today, she had found herself running their last conversation over and over in her head. She had definitely been more forward than was normal for her, but as she got older she felt less need to be coy or shy about her feelings.

 _So much for not thinking about it._

Rory brought her mug down onto the counter with a little too much force and the black liquid slopped over the edge.

"Perfect," she muttered, reaching for the paper towel.

As she tore off a sheet, she noticed a red light winking at her from the corner of the kitchen.

 _Motion sensors. Wonderful._

Even here, close to her coffee sanctuary, she was being watched. Well, not watched exactly, but monitored. The thought of it still gave her the creeps. It was just another reminder that she wasn't a small town girl anymore. Her mother had regularly left their back door unlocked, much to Luke's horror. But that was just life when the whole town's population was less than 5,000.

Now, she always felt like someone was watching her. At work there was constant surveillance, for obvious reasons. And at home, where she was supposed to feel free to do whatever she wanted, agents sitting somewhere in an office on the 2nd floor of the West Wing could monitor her comings and goings by the times she logged into her security system.

All this oversight didn't make her feel safe, however. Instead, it just made her angry; at her stalker, at this big city, at the world in general for being so anonymous and scary that things like security systems and motion detectors were a necessary part of life.

With that thought at the front of her mind, she wandered across the hall and into the bathroom. A quick glance at the ceiling reassured her that they weren't spying on her while she showered.

 _Ooh. A shower. Now that might actually help._

She just needed a good night's sleep, and then she'd be able to think logically about her life and any almost-relationship, whatever-it-was. There was no point in circling around it again and again in her mind while she was insomniac-tipsy. And what better way to relax before bed than a nice hot shower?

The bathroom was one of the things she loved most about her apartment. The room wasn't big, certainly, but it was luxurious. In place of a bathtub there was a sizeable stand-up shower, wrapped in marble with a sparkling glass door. The marble continued onto the floor in a small mosaic, mimicking what had probably been there when the building was originally built. The best feature, she had decided, were the heated floors. There was nothing quite as heavenly as stepping out onto warm tile on a cold morning.

When she moved in, Lorelai had expressed her doubts, concerned about the lack of a tub. But Rory wasn't upset. She had never enjoyed soaking in her own dirty water, and so she and the shower were a match made in bathing heaven. Thankfully, each suite had its own hot water tank, otherwise she would have been very unpopular with her neighbours.

Rory sat on the little tile bench and let the hot water scorch away her problems, at least for a short while. Every time a thought about Jess, or work, or a lurking stalker surfaced in her mind, she drove it away. She tried to keep her mind deliberately blank, or focused on physical things like how the water felt, or how the tiles were going to make a strange pattern on her backside when she finally stood up. As was usually the case, her mind outlasted the hot water, and she stood with a sigh, shutting off what was now a lukewarm spray at best.

Wrapped in a towel, she began the ritual of brushing her hair and applying various lotions and potions. She wasn't a slave to skincare, but she also wasn't a spring chicken. She gave her reflection a wry smile in the mirror. Her skin wasn't sixteen anymore, and neither was the rest of her. So why, then, was she flirting with a boy? A _man_ , she corrected herself. And why was she wondering when he might call, or if he would take her someplace nice? Or if, perhaps, he was out with another girl...

When her phone buzzed from the kitchen counter, she tried to ignore the little jump her heart made, thinking it might be him. She would never admit to anyone that she was slightly disappointed when the screen showed her mother's name rather than his.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hey sweetie! Glad I finally caught you. I feel like we haven't talked in ages!"

"It hasn't been that long, has it?"

"We haven't talked since shoulder pads and stirrup pants were in fashion."

Rory rolled her eyes and hitched up her towel. "Right. That means I should be getting my Kirk Cameron autograph in the mail any day now."

"You must be so excited! So what else is new?"

"Work, work… oh, and did I mention work?"

"Wow," Lorelai huffed, "remind me not to live vicariously through you anymore."

"Sorry. I'll try to get drunk and make a fool of myself at least once before New Years, just for you."

"That's the least you can do for your dear mother."

"What's new at home?" Rory wandered down to her bedroom, searching for pajamas now that her towel, and feet, and everything were cold.

"Hmm, let's see. Luke has decided to bring back the veggie burger at the diner, due to popular demand."

"Let me guess - Kirk won't shut up about it?"

"He says he needs the low-fat protein if he and Lulu are going to procreate."

Rory dropped her towel, closing her eyes against the ghastly mental image of Kirk trying to reproduce. "I can never unthink that. Thanks."

Her mom giggled. "Just trying to share the horror. And Will now loves Star Wars. Anything Star Wars. All hail the Star Wars."

"Luke must be thrilled." Rory struggled with her pajama pants, holding the phone against her shoulder.

"Yup. Possibly even more than that time I ate cauliflower I mistakenly thought was mashed potatoes."

"Oh my god, that looked nothing like mashed potatoes!"

"It was covered in gravy, and was sitting next to the turkey. I was confused!"

Rory rolled her eyes. "I still say you were subconsciously sucking up to Luke so he wouldn't make you try the brussel sprouts again."

Lorelai was quick to defend herself. "Trust me, trading one vegetable for another is not something I'd waste my time on. I'd just feed them all to the dog."

"That dog might be the closest thing this world has to a canine vegetarian."

"Well, it's not like I can share my bacon. Because, well, it's bacon."

"Hold on." Rory put the phone down while she pulled on her pajama shirt and dug her fuzzy slippers out from under the bed. "Ok, I'm back."

"I'm sorry, are you multitasking while talking to moi? How can this be? I'm fascinating enough to keep at least 4 or 5 normal humans entertained, and one surly diner owner. But not my brilliant daughter? Whom I carried for 9 long months, I might add?"

Rory sighed, not possessing the energy or patience for a Lorelai chat in her current mindset. "I'm just getting ready for bed. It was a very long day."

"Awww. Other kids still not playing nice in the sandbox?"

"You could say that. But he's the least of my worries lately."

"Did I miss something? I thought things were going better?" Lorelai sounded genuinely concerned now, and Rory felt bad for complaining.

"No, it's just with the hearing going all day today, and the security system and Agent Wells monitoring my comings and goings, it's a lot to take." Rory breathed a sigh of relief as she unloaded all her worries in one long breath.

"Security system?"

Rory smacked herself on the forehead, not believing she had just spilled her own secret in a moment of weakness.

"Um, well..."

"Why would you need a security system?" Her mother sounded a little panicky now, even for her.

The silence dragged for a second while Rory decided how much to reveal, and how to word it so it didn't sound too serious.

"It's nothing, really. I just got another letter, is all. And the agent assigned to my case suggested some upgrades to my apartment."

Lorelai actually spluttered while trying to marshal her thoughts. "You got another letter? From your STALKER?! Why didn't you tell me?"

Rory's cheeks burned with guilt. "Because I didn't want you to worry."

"I'm your mother. I'm supposed to worry. It's my job and god given right!" Even though she was trying to make a joke, her tone was sharp.

"I know, Mom. I'm sorry. It's just like before; no direct threat, nothing to investigate. Jermaine just insisted that I have a security system installed. And really, considering my weird hours and the fact that I live alone, it's probably not a bad idea."

"Jermaine?"

Rory rolled her eyes. Leave it to her mother to latch onto the one thing that could keep her from panicking herself into a frenzy.

"Agent Wells. He's sort of become my personal security advisor."

"I see. And you're on a first name basis with him already?"

This line of questioning from her mother was nothing new. But after her strange conversation with Jermaine earlier, Rory didn't want to talk about him.

"Yes. He's nice."

"I'm sure he is..."

The implication was clear. Lorelai had been gently teasing her about her lack of love life for a couple of years. And Rory was still steadfastly ignoring her jabs.

"Please tell me he looks like Kevin Costner."

"Not remotely."

"Gerard Butler?"

"Mom…"

"Ok, fine. Channing Tatum, then. But only because we've all seen him without his gun holster, if you know what I mean."

"I've really got to get some sleep, Mom."

"What?" Lorelai whined. "Already? But we were just getting to the good stuff!"

She chuckled as she got under the covers and snuggled down into her pillow.

"Sorry. The country gets up early, and I have to be ready to go when the news calls."

"I know. Well, please be careful and take care of yourself."

Rory yawned. "I always do, Mom. Give my love to Luke and Will."

"Will do, kiddo."

"Oh, and Mom? He's more like Shemar Moore."

She could hear Lorelai's gasp over the phone. "Oh my! But without all that 'baby girl' stuff, right? Because that's just creepy."

"I'm absolutely positive that Jermaine would never say that." Rory chuckled at the thought.

"Ok, good. Night, honey."

"Bye, Mom."

After the screen of her cell phone went dark, she stared up at the ceiling, wishing that she'd never mentioned the letter, or the stupid security system. And definitely not Jermaine. She hadn't lied; he was nice. Unfortunately, he just wasn't Jess. And as she had learned to recognize in many of her failed relationships (if you could even call them that), no matter how great they were, they just didn't measure up to him. She had tried to ignore it, or to simply appreciate who she was with for their good qualities, without any comparison. But it never worked for long.

More recently, she'd thought of it like a curse. She was haunted by the memory of this feeling she had when she was with him. But it had been so long, she wasn't sure she could trust that memory anymore. And what if it had never been real? They were together for such a short time, really, even counting the dramatic moments thereafter. How could she possibly remember a feeling accurately that had happened an eon ago, and for only a short speck of time?

 _Stop it. Go to sleep!_

She rolled to plug her phone in, and caught another blinking red light out of the corner of her eye. _Damn_ , she thought. Not even her bedroom was sacred. Settling down, Rory purposely turned her back to the motion sensor, trying to pretend it didn't exist.

After counting a thousand sheep, mentally trying to do her income taxes, and reciting as much of _The Iliad_ as she could remember, Rory was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness - until her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She grabbed it, ready to hurl it across the room, or type in a scathing reply peppered with profanity, when she noticed who had messaged her.

 _Jess_: Still up?_

Rory felt childish but she grinned, ridiculously happy to hear from him, especially after her rotten day. Her fingers found the keys on her phone easily, her job having made her an expert in typing without looking.

 _-Unfortunately yes_

 _Jess_: Sorry it's so late. Long day?_

She sat up a little against the pillows, rubbing her eyes against the brightly lit screen.

 _-You have no idea_

 _Jess_: I think I might, actually. My agent is annoyingly peppy and long-winded. Only headed home just now_

In the darkness, she giggled, imagining his annoyance at having to make nice with someone because he had no choice. It was probably hellish for him.

 _-Lol. My condolences_

 _Jess_: Have some news that might cheer you up though_

 _-Oh yeah?_

 _Jess_: How does dinner on the 13th sound?_

Rory held her fingers to her mouth, but her small sound of surprise slipped out. She had self-deprecatingly assumed that he would forget about their plans, or not have time for her in his touring schedule. But she had misjudged him, and she'd never been so glad to be proven wrong.

- _Sounds just about perfect_

 _Jess_: Around 8?_

 _-Sure. What day is that?_

 _Jess_: Friday_

She laughed out loud, her fingers flying nearly as fast as her brain was moving.

- _You're taking me out on Friday the 13th?_

 _Jess_: Apparently…_

 _-Will Jason be joining us?_

 _Jess_: Nah. His cutlery skills leave something to be desired_

He never disappointed with his quick wit, and she laughed loudly in the darkness.

- _LOL. Ok. Just text me where and I'll meet you_

 _Jess_: Will do. Sorry about your long day_

Rory smiled, feeling warmth spread across her chest.

- _That's ok. It's suddenly not so bad…_

He didn't respond right away, and she was briefly concerned that she'd said something wrong. Was she too forward, or maybe too sentimental? She scolded herself, remembering that she didn't really know what he was thinking, or if this dinner would be anything more than two friends catching up. Her hand was already reaching for the nightstand when her phone buzzed again.

 _Jess_: Goodnight Ror. Sweet dreams_

- _Night Dodger_

Her grin this time was interrupted by a yawn. Apparently she would be getting a good night's sleep after all. And while she didn't want to admit that her mood depended so heavily on a man, she was grateful just to take the sleep and enjoy it.


	10. Discovery

**A/N: I'm really happy with this one. I was always curious about what Jess' work life looked like. AND, only a couple more chapters until the lovebirds actually see each other in person. I can't wait for you to find out what happens!**

 **I love reviews, good or bad, so feel free to give me your opinions.**

 **Also, as always, I don't own Gilmore Girls nor any of the characters.**

 **ENJOY!**

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – Discovery**

"I'm just saying, man, this would be much easier if they had attached photos."

Jess made secret, angry faces at the phone, hoping Chris would somehow feel his annoyance through their virtual connection. They had been at this for twenty minutes, and hadn't gotten further than the list of candidates.

"And as I said before, as much as you and Matt might like to, you can't judge a book by its cover. Besides, some of these resumes are from men. You really want to evaluate suitability based on a snapshot from some guy's camping trip?"

"Well," Chris hedged, "maybe he's a fun guy. We could use another fun guy in the store, considering you're becoming a grumpy old fart!"

Jess dropped his head into his hands and prayed for patience. The placement agency had sent over almost twenty resumes, all of them no doubt extremely qualified for the manager positions. Trying to narrow the field down, however, was proving to be next to impossible. After a brief glance, Matt had declared himself 'sick', leaving Jess to review them via phone with Chris.

"Look, can we just read through these and make some decisions? I have stuff I have to do before I'm dead."

"Got a big shuffleboard tournament, do you?" Chris snickered, and Jess actually cracked a smile.

"No, but my appointment with the funeral director is time sensitive, so screw your head on straight." They could grumble at each other like this for days, but it wasn't getting them anywhere.

"Fine. Killjoy."

"That's me, snuffing out fun since 1983. Now can we please go through these? Otherwise, I'm just going to throw them up in the air and choose to interview whoever lands face up."

He rolled his eyes at Chris' dramatic sigh, and the two got down to business.

"Ok, first one, Tara Tebbings."

Chris shot her down immediately. "Double initial name, like a comic book character. No way."

"Yeah, I've seen that episode of _Big Bang_ too, but you're seriously going to reject her based on her initials?"

"That and the fact there's two major typos in her cover letter."

Jess raised his eyebrows. He hadn't caught those yet. "Right. Sayonara Tara. Next: Kyon James."

The two were quiet as they each scanned the papers in front of them.

"Undergrad from Texas State, but no real work experience." Chris sounded interested, and Jess was willing to read a little deeper for a college grad.

"Never mind, his degree is in kinesiology." Jess tossed the pages on the floor and moved on. "Jessica Ouelette, originally from Quebec City."

Chris perked up at that. "She sounds hot."

"Well, despite that, she also looks pretty damn qualified. Diploma in Financial Management from Carleton University and she managed front of house for a radio station in college, so she knows promotion. She's worked the past two years for Chicago Review Press."

"Doing what?"

"Uh, looks like office grunt-work." Jess flipped back and forth, looking to see if there was anything else relevant he'd missed.

"Sounds good. Add her to the yes pile."

He tossed the resume to the side of his desk, happy to have at least one interview to schedule. "Well done, Jessica. Ok, your turn."

"Neil Matheson," Chris' voice called out, "business major at Phila U."

Jess shuffled the stack to find the right package. "Sounds promising."

"Plays left tackle and works as an account manager for Orion Sales, whatever that is."

"Wait, did you say he _plays_ left tackle? Is he still in school?"

Chris groaned, disappointed. "Yeah, my bad. He's got a semester to go."

"Sorry, Neil. We need someone full time, ASAP." Jess tossed the papers onto the floor.

"Oh, please let this be the next one."

He could hear the teasing laughter in Chris' voice. "Who?"

"Diezel Manselli, with a 'z', because that makes it cooler."

Jess quickly ran his fingers through the potential candidates, finding the right resume. "Wow, you weren't kidding. That's actually his name. You figure his parents chose that winner, or…?"

"No way. No parent is that cruel."

He chuckled as he checked the contact address. "Guess again, my friend. He's from Jersey. That's probably the name on his birth certificate."

Chris laughed, conceding defeat. "Is this one an automatic toss?"

"No, no. If we're going to judge him, let's at least judge him on his work experience at," Jess scanned the second page quickly, "Bargain Barn."

"Nooo. Come on."

"He also had a summer job as a shift manager and inventory supervisor at an Affliction store in Trenton, which is how he probably got added to our list."

"Three strikes and he's out."

"Sorry, Diezel with a z." The pages fluttered down, scattering on the wood floor. "Next up is… Willow Hart."

"She sounds—"

"Don't say it!" Jess barked.

"For your information, I was going to say freaky."

"That's not any better."

"Killjoy."

Hoping to stave off another headache, he pushed his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes before settling back in his chair. "Let's see, she currently manages a record store in Fishtown."

"Do they still have those?"

Jess snorted. "How can you be a poet and know dick all about music?"

"I'm just special."

He shook his head at his partner, flipping the single sheet over in his hands. "Bookkeeping, time as a personal assistant, blah, blah, blah. School is lacking, except for a brief stint at La Salle, in creative writing. Interesting."

Chris made a dismissive noise in his throat. "Like that matters. Honestly, I'm surprised you care if they're formally educated. Of the three of us, only Matt has paper hanging on the wall, and he's still the dumbest."

"I'll tell him you said that."

"Be my guest."

Jess sat up a little straighter, looking closely at the back page. "In the Hobbies section, she says she's read over two thousand books."

"Who puts something like that in their resume?"

"Apparently Ms. Hart does."

Chris was quiet a minute. "Sounds like she might be our kind of people."

He slid the one page resume across his desk into the short, yes pile. "Congratulations, Willow."

"Ok, I think I've got another winner."

"Lay it on me."

Chris cleared his throat. "Henry James."

"Shut. Up."

"No, that's really the dude's name."

Jess rolled his eyes, and scanned through the remaining resumes. "Ok. Henry James, currently of Scranton. Work experience from Three Horn Financial as an account manager, diploma in Office Management from the Tepper School of Business in Pittsburgh."

"Ok, what's the catch?"

He flipped over to the second page, looking for anything that stuck out. "He's a hockey fan, played goal in high school."

Chris sighed. "That's it?"

"Yeah, nothing of note in his interests or anything. But he's got the education and experience, I suppose."

"Ok, yeah. Put him in the yes pile. I guess we won't really know if these people fit until we meet them."

Jess nodded, hoping there was a winner in their short stack of interviewees. "Right, although they'll have to be a special kind of weird to fit in with us."

"What are you talking about? We're easy to get along with!"

"You keep telling yourself that."

He and Chris continued on like that, back and forth for another hour, until they had sufficient yes piles for both Philly and Boston. While it was a painful process, Jess had to admit that Rory was right. At least everyone in the running was moderately qualified; no short-order cooks or retail clones to wade through. And the placement agency had a guarantee, in case the person they hired had lied about their experience or was horribly unsuitable. It was definitely worth the fee for their services.

"So, you think you can come down for two days next week for the interviews?"

"Yeah. Honestly, I can't wait to get out of here. The store will probably self-destruct while I'm away, but it'll be worth it to breathe some sweet Philly air."

Jess laughed. "Trust me, man. There's nothing sweet about the garbage aroma from that new restaurant down the block. I can't even imagine what it's going to smell like in August."

"Whatever. It's Philly. That place will probably be closed by April."

"True. Ok, so I'll call all these shiny-faced hopefuls and set up appointments for Monday and Tuesday."

"Sounds good. Don't make the interviews too early. I'm not at my most judgemental until at least 10:30."

"I think Matt and I can judge enough to cover you, if you're not at full strength."

His partner chuckled, and Jess acknowledged that he was looking forward to the three of them being together again.

"Want to grab dinner on Sunday?"

Jess blinked, looking away from his electronic calendar. "Sunday? Matt and I figured you'd be here all weekend."

Chris took a few seconds too long to answer, and Jess' ears perked up.

"I'm not catching the train until Sunday."

"Because…?"

"Can't a guy just want a Saturday to himself?"

His evasive tone made Jess put down the papers he was shuffling and give the speaker phone his full attention.

"Sure, a guy could want that. But you've been itching to get out of that town for weeks. What gives? You got a hot date or something?"

When his question was met only with silence and the buzz from the open phone line, Jess laughed sharply.

"You DO have a date! What the hell? I thought Boston girls didn't like you?"

"Yeah, well, there had to be at least one in a city this big." His friend sounded a little bashful, and Jess laughed even harder.

"So tell me, what is this girl like? I mean, she must be blind, deaf and dumb to want to date you."

"Yeah, screw you right back, Mariano."

"Oh come on, man. She's probably not dumb. So fill me in."

"Her name is Charlotte. I met her at the laundromat. Don't laugh!"

Jess had to clamp his hand over his own mouth, but he tried to comply.

"She's from Savannah, and she's here doing her Masters in Music Therapy at Berklee."

"Wow."

Chris exhaled slowly, and Jess could practically see the smile on his friend's face.

"She's way outta my league."

"No shit." He ran his hands through his hair, happy for Chris, but thinking that he was in a similar situation with Rory. Just two shmucks drooling after women that were way too good for them.

"So, where are you taking her?"

"Drinks downtown and then an art show by this photographer that takes great pictures of old theatres and concert halls and stuff."

Jess rolled his eyes. Chris obviously had it bad for this girl if he was laying out that kind of date.

"Well, good luck. She sounds like just the kind of girl you could royally screw up."

He wasn't too surprised when his joke went right over Chris' head.

"Oh, man. I haven't even told you about her accent. She calls me 'darlin', and it makes me break out in a sweat."

"Gross."

"And her eyes. Damn. I'm in serious trouble."

Jess rolled his eyes again. "Sounds like it. Ok, dinner on Sunday, and you can give us all the gory details."

"Will do. See you guys soon."

They ended their call, and Jess finished gathering up all the scattered paper, still laughing about how lovesick Chris sounded. Man, did he understand that feeling. At least Chris didn't have to watch her date a tall, boring, bag boy while mooning after her. God, when he thought about all the idiotic things he'd done back then to get Rory's attention - it was just embarrassing.

Showing up at her house with a fake food delivery. Learning dumb magic tricks. He was pathetic.

But he couldn't have stopped, even if he wanted to. Every time she smiled at him, or glared at him, it was like another hit of his favourite drug. It just made him want to do it again and again. And then, by some stroke of luck, he got her.

Which is when he got lazy. And even more stupid.

It was dumb, but he never wanted her to know how much she affected him, how much power she wielded over his life and his heart. His pointless teenage pride let her sit at home, waiting for him to call. And what was even more ridiculous, usually he was sitting at home too, wanting to call her but refusing to admit how important she was to him.

He was just stupid. And if she had been anyone else, she would have dumped his ass like so much worthless trash. But because she was Rory, she stuck to him even when it would have been easier and healthier for her to walk away. When he was a kid, he didn't deserve that kind of loyalty, or misguided devotion, or whatever it was she had suffered from. He wasn't entirely sure he was worthy of it now, either.

But, as the result of what had to be a miracle, it seemed like he was getting a second, or fifteenth, chance with her. Without thinking, he pulled open his desk drawer and fished out her letter that had arrived that morning.

 _Jess,_

 _My thrilling life in prison continues. There are now 3 motion sensors, 7 door and window contacts, 2 control panels, 2 deadbolts, an alarm company and a Secret Service agent monitoring my comings and goings. Not to mention a creepy stalker. And a partridge in a pear tree, but who's counting? Honestly, sometimes I just want to scream "I'm NOT THAT INTERESTING!" and see if some of them take a hike._

 _Work is definitely going better, despite the obvious hatred displayed by my direct underling. I generally never use that word, underling, because it's so demeaning, but in his case I'm willing to make an exception. It's a huge concession, but he's so worth it._

 _You're absolutely right about 'Go Set a Watchman'. I love 'Mockingbird', of course, but there was something so exciting about 'Watchman' being found in her safety deposit box and published decades after her last work. I wonder if it's true that she was coerced into agreeing to let it go to print? I know writers are so protective of their work, and often don't want anyone to see something that isn't finished. But it's just sad for their words to be lost forever._

 _Do you think you'd ever let any of your work be published posthumously? If a big stack of your notebooks were found after you were gone, I hope the world would get a chance to read them. Or at least me._

 _I finally read one of those books I bought down the street! 'The Heart Goes Last' by Margaret Atwood. I'm not sure if you've read it, but I loved the way it messed with my head. Think 1984 meets Stepford Wives with a little Freaky Friday thrown in. Trust me, it's wonderful._

 _So yes, I successfully read a book I bought, but I still haven't learned to cook. Good thing we're going out when you're here, then, because anything I attempt to make would likely kill us both. There's something tragically poetic about that, don't you think?_

 _I honestly haven't been out since I moved, so I'm really looking forward to it. And let's be real, I'm looking forward to not being at work until late, too. So you're saving me from death, and boredom, and being a workaholic - so noble of you. My knight in shining leather jacket._

 _And before you go brushing off the noble comment, remember: the pen is mightier than the sword. And there's no one mightier with words than you._

 _Forever in your noble, wordy debt,_

 _Rory_

Jess laughed to himself in his quiet office, just like he had the first time he read it. She was the only person he knew that could ramble as eloquently on paper as she could in person. It was one of the things he had missed most about her, actually. She was beautiful, certainly, and kind, and funny, and all the things anyone could ever want. But it was her mind that had hooked him the deepest.

The people Jess met in his daily life missed 99% of the sarcastic comments he hurled at them as a way to amuse himself. They just didn't have the mental facility to get it. Rory was different. From the day they met, he knew she was his intellectual equal, or more likely his superior. At 17, he could appreciate a pretty girl. But a pretty girl that could keep up with him and regularly challenged him? Jess hadn't known to wish for that because he didn't know it was a possibility.

When they were finally together, they spent a lot of time making out. Of course they did. They were teenagers, after all. She made him feel things he didn't know he was capable of, in his heart and elsewhere. But the memories he cherished the most, the ones that still turned him on to this very day, were the arguments they had about authors long dead and worlds that were complete fantasy. She would patiently listen to his side, consider his opinion, and then tear him to ribbons with a thoughtful perspective that left him awed.

Yes, she was way too good for him; but by the sound of her letter, she was excited about their dinner date anyway.

Jess scratched at his stubbly cheek and thought about Chris' carefully planned evening with Charlotte. He owed Rory just as much care and planning, didn't he? He was hoping that maybe, just maybe this could be a step forward for them. There was no way he was leaving it to chance.

With that in mind, he pulled out his phone and started researching restaurants. He'd never spent much time in D.C., and didn't know anyone local that could make a recommendation, so he was relying on good old Google. He didn't want to pick an obvious place, nothing with a name she would recognize. He wasn't a white tablecloth kind of guy, so that eliminated most of the places right downtown. And he was taking out a Gilmore, so portion size was a serious consideration. More than anything though, he didn't want her to think for even a second that this was a friendly date.

Finally he settled on what he thought was the right place. A quick call secured a table for two in a dark corner in a jazz bar he was sure no one had ever heard of. Good burgers, good music, and privacy to talk.

With that decision made, he pulled up the itinerary his agent had sent him for his book tour dates. He was arriving in Washington before noon on the 13th, which gave him plenty of wiggle room in case his flight was delayed. He honestly wasn't sure why Samuel insisted he fly everywhere. On the East Coast, everyone knew trains were faster. But the publisher paid for it all, so he supposed it was just standard procedure.

He still had to decide on some passages to read at his appearances. The publisher liked him to read things that were salacious and attention grabbing, because they made the best sound bites for reporters. As an author, he preferred quotes that spoke more to the deep emotional journeys of the characters. Generally, they settled somewhere in the middle. This tour was particularly hard to prep for because the book had been out for quite some time. While the paperback release was new, the material was not. Everyone probably already knew the quotes he might choose, so he was having problems coming up with something that seemed fresh.

After a minute of scrolling through the electronic copy, he slammed down the top of his laptop and stalked out into the store. His books had their own shelf by the front door, despite his specific request to hide them in a corner somewhere. Matt even had a cardboard cut-out made, at full life-size, as a gag when Jess' second book in the trilogy hit 10,000 copies in its first week. It was supposedly for Jess' myriad of fans to take selfies with, but the partners all knew it was really just to piss him off. After being greeted by his own face for several consecutive days, he had taken perverse pleasure in decapitating the cardboard version of himself. And while his effigy had been dismantled, the front-and-centre book display remained.

He grabbed a copy of _Dark Queen_ and headed back to his desk. It was so much easier, feeling the tangible, paper book in his hands. Computers had their place, but books were meant to be held and heard and smelled. He flipped through aimlessly, hoping some line or fragment of dialogue would give him an idea. But after a half hour of fruitless searching, he sat back and ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands hard enough to send little jolts into his scalp.

Not only was his task frustrating, his heart wasn't in it. This tour just felt like a cash-grab to him, and he was hard pressed to put his enthusiasm behind it. Still, it was getting him to DC, and that wasn't nothing. If he was honest, he was feeling pretty distracted, too. The 13th couldn't arrive fast enough for him. If things still worked between them, it would open up a door he thought was firmly closed. If it didn't, well, at least then he would know and maybe be able to move on with his life.

But this waiting was killing him, bit by bit. And he was the instrument of his own demise.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was already 3:30. Since he wasn't getting anywhere, he decided to head home with a rough draft from one of their up and comers. The piece would need a lot of work, but he knew from experience that it was worth it. This girl just had that elusive something, the spark that could catch a reader's imagination and hold it for hundreds of pages. She had declined to work with the other guys, apparently only trusting Jess with her words. He was flattered, and humbled by her assertion that he was the only one who understood the soul of her writing. Unfortunately, he was also stretched so thin at work that finding time to dedicate to her latest pages was nearly impossible. He couldn't turn down a request from someone this talented, though, so he decided to spend the rest of his night on it.

He didn't even pause on his way out, and in minutes he was sprinting up the steps to his apartment. Before settling in, he flipped on the coffee pot, and sat down to the gurgling sound of the brewer. True to her style, he was hooked on the very first page. And soon he was blindly reaching for his phone.

"Yeah?"

"Chris, when was the last time anyone talked to Shavi Nassad?"

"That high school kid?" His business partner was quiet a minute, thinking about the answer. "I haven't talked to her in ages. But I think Matt got a call from her early last week? Maybe it was the week before. Whenever her package arrived, probably. Why?"

Jess exhaled and shoved his hand through his hair. "I'm just reading her new first draft. It's gold. Absolute gold. I'm going to need to dedicate some time to this, to get it ready. But this is going to be her big break, I can feel it."

"I thought you said she still needed time to mature, to dig deeper?"

Jess shook his head, excitement welling up and colouring his words. "No, this is it. I'm going to call her now and make sure she isn't thinking of going anywhere else."

"I hate to kill the party before it begins," Chris hedged, "but I don't know if we have time to prep another book before the holidays. We already have that anthology to put out."

Chris wasn't wrong. They were already running at full capacity, and it took a lot of work behind the scenes to get a book to print. With layout and covers and production, even after the text was perfected, it was no small task.

Jess sat forward and leaned into his knees. "Well, then maybe I should be calling my guy at Random House. We could look at a joint release, like we've done with my stuff."

"You think it's that good?" Chris sounded skeptical, but Jess knew he would change his tune once he read the pages that were sitting in front of him.

"Yeah. I really do."

"Ok, man, you don't need my permission anymore. Go with your gut. Matt and I trust your instincts."

Jess was struck momentarily speechless. He'd always taken big decisions to his partners, believing that the business was truly theirs to steer. It was a double check for himself, too, so that he could be sure he was making the right move. But this blanket approval from Chris threw him for a loop. He'd never 'gone with his gut', so to speak, when it came to the business. If he didn't have to check with his partners, what assurances did he have that he was moving in the right direction?

"Uh, ok. Ok, thanks. I'm going to call her now and see if she'll sign an exclusivity agreement."

"Sounds good." Chris was grinning so big, Jess could hear it through the phone. "Go bag that fish. Nice job recognizing that rough diamond—"

"Yeah, ok. Enough with the cheese. I'll let you know how it turns out."

He hung up on his friend's teasing laughter. Shaking his head, Jess looked up the author and dialled in her number.

"Hello?"

"Shavi? Hey, it's Jess Mariano."

"Jess! Hi, I wasn't expecting your call, was I?"

He chuckled. She was an amazing writer, but the girl had a memory like a sieve. "No, no, we didn't have anything scheduled. I just started reading your draft, and I had some thoughts. Do you have time now?"

"Oh. Um, sure. I guess. Just hold on a minute."

In the background, he heard her speaking in Farsi to someone, probably her grandmother, and then her end of the call got very quiet.

"Are you in the closet again?"

She laughed tightly. It was a running joke between them. When Jess first found her through the writing club at her school, he was surprised to hear that she usually wrote in her bedroom closet. She had quickly explained that it was the only space in the house where she could be by herself. That was over six months ago, before she graduated. As far as he knew, she still lived with her entire extended family in their 2-storey in Northeast Philly. Aunts, uncles, grandparents and too many kids to count, all under one roof. He'd been there for dinner more than once, as a way to prove to her father that he wasn't just some creep, and was indeed helping Shavi with her writing.

"So, you're reading my new book?"

He grinned, finding her hopeful enthusiasm endearing, as always. "Yes, I just started it today. Sorry it's taken me so long to get to it."

"Don't worry, Jess. I know you're very busy. I'm just glad that you're reading it."

"It's good, Shavi. Really, really good."

There was nothing but self-conscious silence at her end for a long beat, and Jess remembered back to the days when Matt and Chris had praised his first book. While the validation secretly felt amazing, he didn't know what to do with their compliments. Having thought of himself as a screw up for so long, to hear someone legitimately tell him he wasn't had sounded false to his ears. He didn't start to believe the praise for a long time, and still struggled with it now and again.

"Do you really think so?"

Her childlike voice squeezed briefly at his heart. There were a lot of hopes and dreams riding on his treatment of this book.

"I think it's going to be an important novel. I mean, I think it's going to be in bookstores, _big_ ones, for a long time."

Shavi took a shaky breath, but didn't respond.

"So, I just want to make sure that you still want me to be your editor. I would understand if you wanted someone more experienced, or with better connections."

"No! Jess, no. Of course I want you. You're the only one that understands my writing."

He smiled and the tension in his neck eased. "Ok. Good, I'm glad. I'm going to send you a contract, ok? To formalize us working together and to list our responsibilities to get this book published. Just read it over with your family, and if you have any questions, you can call me any time."

"Ok. Wow, you really think it will be in bookstores?"

"Yeah, I do. This is going to be huge for you, Shavi, you and your family. And I just want to say thanks, for trusting me with it. I'm honoured."

She said something back to him in her native language, her words like a lullaby without music.

"Sorry, my Farsi hasn't improved since the last time we talked."

Shavi laughed a little, then explained. " _You have honoured us with your esteem and conviction_."

Even though something was probably lost in the overly formal translation, the message still made him feel a little loose in the knees.

"I'll send that contract when I'm in the office tomorrow, and I'll call you when I'm ready with the edits, ok?"

"Ok. Thanks again, Jess. For everything. I'm really excited."

"Me, too. Talk to you soon."

Jess sat and stared at the cover of her manuscript for a long time after he ended the call. He thought about the faith she was putting in him, trusting him with what could be her ticket to a life she never dreamed of.

It tended to hit him, at moments like these. While he still considered himself an author first, and always would, he found the most personal satisfaction in developing and encouraging people like Shavi Nassad. How would his life have turned out if Matt and Chris hadn't come into it when they did? He didn't like to think about the possibilities. And now he was able to pass on that opportunity to others; others who might not otherwise have the chance to reach their full potential.

With her bright, young future still at the front of his mind, he filled a mug with coffee and sat down to read the rest of what he was sure would be a modern masterpiece.

His red pen didn't take a break for several hours until his growling stomach and screaming bladder forced the issue. His eyes were starting to swim behind his glasses anyway, so he decided to stop for dinner. When his slab-sized grilled cheese hit the pan, he hopped up to sit on the counter, munching on the remains of a veggie tray he'd bought over the weekend.

After reading nearly a thousand pages, he was still just as confident about the future of Shavi's book. It was poignant and sweet, just like the author herself. And only she could have written this book. Someone else with a different life, a different history, would have come at the subject matter from another direction entirely. And the story would have suffered greatly for it. He still couldn't believe his luck at finding her.

Jess pulled his phone out again, wanting to share the news with someone he knew would appreciate it. He was secretly happy to note that Rory was his top contact. The frequency he talked to her, both by phone and text, was another small sign that he wasn't the same, incommunicative moron as when they met. Hopefully that boded well for them.

 _-How was your day?_

The sandwich was ready to be flipped, and his phone buzzed while the bread was arching through the air above the pan.

 _Rory_: Decent. I haven't killed anyone yet._

 _Rory_: Yours?_

He chuckled, filled a glass with milk and took everything to the table.

 _-Mine has been freaking fantastic_

 _-Mostly_

 _Rory_: Well, yours definitely sounds better. Can I call you when I get home?_

Jess frowned, concerned that she was again at the office at 9:00pm. He was noticing it was a nasty habit of hers.

 _-Sorry. Didn't know you were still working_

 _Rory_: That's ok. I'd rather talk to you anyway. Should only be another half hour._

 _-Sounds good_

When he'd polished off his dinner, he decided against going back to editing. He was tired, and he knew he wouldn't be able to really get into it again before Rory called him back. And Shavi deserved his complete concentration. Instead, he flipped on the television and found a rerun of _The Outer Limits_ to occupy his mind. It was just getting to the inevitable plot twist when his phone rang.

"You're spoiling the only TV time I've had in the past week, you know."

She laughed, not at all put off by his gruff tone. "You'll get over it, I'm sure. So tell me about this wonderful day of yours."

"You first. Why are you counting not murdering someone as a real accomplishment?"

His brows drew down when he heard her sigh deeply.

"Different show, same channel."

"The underling guy, huh?"

"Yes. Mr. Perry Tremaine, who has been with the administration _for 21 illustrious years_."

Jess snickered as her voice edged lower into an exaggerated southern drawl. Or, at least a horrible rendition of one.

"My deputy. Who, by definition, is supposed to work _for ME_. But he apparently missed that part of his orientation, _21 illustrious years ago._ "

"I get the feeling that his continued employment is a source of pride for him," Jess dryly panned back. He was rewarded with a tired giggle, which was more than enough for him.

"I honestly think I'm going to have to fire him. I mean, it's just gone way past anything I can reasonably overlook."

"Well, if it has to be done..."

Rory sighed again. "Enough. Distract me with some wonderfulness. Oh, sorry, how did you put it? _Freaking fantastic-_ ness."

He chuckled. Even if her day had been rotten, Rory never lost her sense of humour.

"Well, you can start by congratulating me. I think I've discovered the next generation's Maya Angelou."

Considering the momentous implications of his statement, he wasn't surprised when she sucked in a breath.

"Ok. Your day wins. Tell me everything."

"I knew I could count on you." He grinned and took a deep breath. "This girl, she's… amazing."

"And you're her editor?"

Jess could hear her settling in for a nice long chat about her favourite subject.

"Yeah. I found her by accident, through a contact I have that runs a writing club for high schools in the city. It started as a literacy initiative, but it's grown so much that I've filled in for him here and there."

"That sounds amazing. All those young minds with stories just waiting to get out…"

"Exactly!" He loved it when they talked like this; like his thoughts were already in her head before he voiced them. "So he came to me in the spring with this short story that he said had real promise. I wasn't optimistic, because he'd tried to get me to bite on student work before that just wasn't up to par."

"But this one was different?"

"Oh Ror, it was like reading _A Moveable Feast_ for the first time. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. It's a shame it's only 20 pages."

Rory chuckled softly. "Wow. A Hemingway comparison already? That's high praise, coming from you."

"Oh shut it," he grumbled amicably. "I swear, this girl's soul is a hundred years old. It must be to write like she does."

"She sounds amazing. So you're going to publish her short story?"

"No, no. She just finished a memoir. It's semi-autobiographical, from what I can tell; about a young girl from a farming village in Kashmir, stuck in a pre-determined life but dreaming of seeing what's beyond her little valley."

"Wow—"

"And it's even better than her first attempt. It's going to be big. Really big." He could feel himself getting excited about it again, the knowledge that he could help present a real literary giant to the world.

"That's incredible, Jess. She couldn't have picked a better editor."

"I actually suggested she go with someone more experienced."

"What? You can't be serious!" She sounded appalled.

"Of course I am."

"Quit selling yourself short! I know you can push her to be the best she can be. She's very lucky to be working with you."

"Stop. You're going to make me blush."

She laughed at his flat delivery, and his chest puffed up a little bigger, not that he would ever admit it.

"So, when do I get to read this masterpiece?"

"When it's published and on the shelf, just like everyone else."

"WHAT!?"

Jess grinned over her outrage. "Sorry, but the author was very clear. I'm the only one who gets to read it."

"Well," she huffed, "who's the book tease now?"

He let the history of those words trickle down his spine to pool somewhere just south of his waist. The feeling made him think of stolen kisses and walks through the snow; a nearly perfect winter where they were so wrapped up in each other, he didn't see the future crashing down on him.

"No, that title will always belong to you."

There was heat in his voice, so much that even he could hear it. He waited, wondering if Rory would follow him or shy away. The silence stretched and he imagined he could hear her breathing, weighing the pros and cons of revisiting their mutual memories.

"So, you said your day was _mostly_ good?"

 _Damn,_ he thought. There was that invisible line again, the one she wouldn't cross when it was pointed out to her.

"Uh, yeah." Jess tried not to let his disappointment creep in, but it was a struggle. "I hit a snag prepping for the book tour."

"Oh?" Her voice sounded a little rough as well.

"I'm trying to pick some passages to read, but with the number of appearances I've done for this series, I think I've read them all at one point or another."

"I'll bet your fans will love anything you read."

He shrugged, suddenly not so sure he was excited about the tour anymore. "Maybe. I wonder if it's possible to be sick of your own writing…"

"Oh, I think it definitely is. There have been a few articles that I've reworked over and over to fit in with what a producer wants. After looking at them for so long, I just wanted to throw them away."

"It's weird – after being so proud of it, I find myself never wanting to see it again."

"I'll bet musicians are the same way. I mean, imagine writing a song you think is beautiful and meaningful, and then you have to play it over and over again to different audiences until there's nothing left of what made it special."

Jess nodded along with her, agreeing as usual. With his eyes closed, he leaned back into the couch, exhausted just from thinking about standing up and speaking in front of people. Lots of people.

"Maybe you need a fresh pair of eyes."

"Yeah, sure. I'll just find someone who knows my books as well as I do and let them pick." He didn't mean to sound so sarcastic, but it came naturally to him when the stress piled up. In the rational part of his brain he knew she was just trying to help, throwing out any idea that came to mind.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to grouch at you—"

"How about me?"

His face screwed up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She cleared her throat, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "I know your books pretty well. I could help, if you want."

"You know my books?" Jess' feet fell down from the coffee table and he sat up a little straighter. He definitely hadn't expected to hear her say that.

"Of course I do, Jess. _The Subsect_ will always be my favourite, but I've probably read the rest of them a half-dozen times, at least." Her voice trailed off as she realized the depth of her admission.

"I had no idea..."

His mind spun as he connected the dots. She'd read his books. All of them. And knew them well enough to offer him her assistance. It was surprising. Hell, it was astounding. He figured she'd probably heard of him from time to time, but never would have guessed that she'd follow his work so closely.

"You know I love your writing. I always have. I mean sure, I read them initially because they're yours. But I would have read them anyway just because they're so good."

Jess didn't know exactly how to label what he was feeling. He figured _choked up_ came pretty close, though.

"That, uh... that would be great. Thank you, Ror."

"Anytime." Her happy smile came through the phone, loud and clear. "I'll get started right away. Is there a theme or a message you're going for? Or is it just the highlights? Or maybe you want a mix of things, depending on the mood of the audience?"

He shook his head, marvelling at the whirlwind that surrounded Rory when she was working on a pet project. She was a force to be reckoned with.

"How about you just pick your favourites?"

"My favourites? How long are these tour stops, anyway?"

"You're hilarious." He laughed sarcastically at her lame joke. "Just pick a bunch, and then I'll have some choices to switch it up."

Honestly, he didn't care if she picked a hundred pages. He just wanted to know what her favourites were, for himself.

"And this is only if you have time, ok? I don't want you neglecting the country or anything."

Rory clapped excitedly in the background. "This is going to be so much fun! Oh! You know what one of them will be? When Malcolm finds out that Sarah moved away while he was gone."

Her voice took on a dreamy quality and he rolled his eyes.

"Really? With all that moping and angst? I didn't figure you for such a drama queen."

"Not that part," she scoffed. "I meant when his neighbour actually tells him and he doesn't want to react. I could feel Malcolm's pain just in the way you described how he was standing and breathing. Sometimes emotions are the strongest when they're hidden."

Her words hit him hard. How long had he been hiding his feelings from her? From Luke? Even from himself?

"You really have read them a lot, haven't you?"

She ignored the question, her mind still tumbling forward faster than her mouth could maintain. "I'm just sad I won't get to see you actually reading them. Maybe you can re-enact one of your appearances at dinner?"

Jess snorted. "I promise to get my agent to tape one for you."

"Ok. I guess that will have to do."

God, he loved it when she pouted like that.

"Speaking of dinner, I finally made a reservation." He grinned when her ramble came to an abrupt end.

"Oh."

"I'm presuming you still eat like a Gilmore?"

Rory laughed lightly, but the mood of the conversation had definitely shifted. "Of course. It's the talking, you know. The secret to our incredible metabolisms."

"That would explain it."

"Luke still thinks my mom and I should be studied. In a lab. Or maybe at the Culinary Institute, because it sounds food-y and science-y. We haven't worked out all the details—"

"Rory?" Jess chuckled under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"I'm really looking forward to seeing you."

Her breath came out shaky enough that he could hear it, and his smirk grew until his cheeks hurt.

"You are?"

"Very much."

"Me, too."

He marvelled at how they could say so much with so few words, an entire conversation about hopes and expectations and insecurities playing just under the surface that they both understood very clearly.

"10 more days."

Jess was ridiculously happy that she was counting down until his visit. Did that make him as lovesick as poor Chris? Probably, but he didn't mind in the slightest.

"Yeah, 10 more days."

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"But that would ruin the surprise."

"Jess..." She tried to convince him the only way she could.

"Those puppy dog eyes don't work over the phone, you know."

Rory huffed out a breath, frustrated that he wouldn't cave in. "Please?"

"Is it really that important for you to scope out the menu in advance?" He shook his head at how ridiculous she was acting, while still managing to be her adorable self.

"No. It's just..." She paused, and he imagined her worrying her bottom lip. And it was a delicious picture. "How will I know what to wear if I don't know where we're going?"

Jess tipped his head back and laughed until his chest hurt. Yep. This was the best day he could remember in a very long time.

 _A fan-freaking-tastic_ day.


	11. This House is a home

**A/N: My apologies for the long delay in getting this chapter published. Everyone in my family has gone down with a cold or flu since Christmas, so I'm only now starting to feel on top of things again.**

 **We're getting so close to their big date that I can't even stand it! I hope you guys are as excited as I am… As always, I love to hear if you're enjoying this story, and any insights or thoughts that you have about it. I don't own Gilmore Girls, nor any of the characters. I just like to write about them. Cheers!**

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 **Chapter 11 – This House is a home**

Rory arrived at work that Monday morning humming to herself. She and Jess had talked late into the night about his work with Shavi's book, and her recommendations for his tour date readings. They'd talked almost every day for the past week, actually, and she was feeling pretty good about it. Some days it seemed like they were still teenagers, arguing about books and trying to catch the other with obscure references. And then, other times, the conversation would turn suggestive and flirty and she was reminded quite suddenly that they were both adults now.

It was different, but it was the same. This cloud nine, slightly giddy feeling he brought out in her was certainly familiar. She glided up to Angelique's desk and handed her assistant her usual grande, peppermint latte. The woman smiled over the silly grin on Rory's face, but it didn't bother her.

"Thanks, boss. You have a visitor waiting in your office."

Rory was surprised, as there wasn't anything in her calendar until 11:00, but she didn't think anything could shake her good mood. Her feet felt like they'd been barely skimming the pavement all the way in to the office. She smiled to herself as she recognized Agent Wells' back, sitting in one of her guest chairs.

"Hi, Jermaine. Sorry, I didn't realize you were coming to see me, or I would have brought you a coffee as well."

She bustled in, shutting the office door behind her, not noticing that he hadn't really answered her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this morning?"

Her smile slipped a little when he turned and she saw the serious look on his face. When she spotted a slim, manila folder in his hand, her happiness all but evaporated on the spot.

"Another? So soon?"

Jermaine nodded solemnly as she settled at her desk.

"But, I don't understand. They've never come this close together before."

He sighed, and slid the folder across the wooden surface between them. "I'd say this is a clear escalation."

Rory took a deep breath, and a long pull on her coffee, before flipping the file open.

 _Lorelai Leigh,_

 _I cannot seem to catch your eye,_

 _Despite my longing and willingness to try._

 _To date you have been largely distracted, surely,_

 _By Madam Secretary, and your work to spin her comments obscurely,_

 _Which means you must shoulder some of the blame,_

 _As the race of females is one and the same._

 _Sadly, the protector of sand and oil,_

 _Does not appreciate your trouble or toil._

 _But soon they will see that you are a prize,_

 _At least to mine own, unworthy eyes._

 _I trust you will also see me and my worth,_

 _A standout talent, amongst gifts in dearth._

 _The timing not a question of if, but when,_

 _Your patient and faithful admirer,_

 _N_

Rory tried but couldn't control her shudder. She shut the folder quickly and pushed it away.

Jermaine sat silently as she tried to reign in her emotions. She got the feeling he was watching her, perhaps to gauge how she felt about this latest letter. Honestly, she wasn't sure if anger or fear was going to win the battle going on in her head. But she knew his quiet observation was definitely driving her crazy. She looked at him pointedly and he took her cue, clearing his throat.

"Does the message mean anything to you, beyond the literal words?"

She rubbed the back of her neck and got up to pace in front of the windows.

"No, not really."

Her brain was racing, but the thoughts were too quick for her to hold onto, leaving her feeling curiously detached and blank.

After allowing her to fret for a few minutes, Jermaine stood and leaned his hip against her desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket and tucking his hands into his pockets.

"I know you want to just forget he sent it. But this is important. He's choosing these words for you for a reason."

Out in the driveway, a gardener fussed with trimming the low hedge, and Rory watched him work through thick, ballistic glass. Why had she chosen a job in the public eye? Why couldn't she just be someone in the background, checking facts or writing speeches? Or maybe gardening. No one would bother to stalk a gardener, would they?

She started when she noticed Jermaine had walked up beside her.

"Look, Rory. I know it's scary. But it's not going to stop until we figure it out."

She looked at him sideways through her lashes. "Do you think I… I mean, was it something I did?"

He turned and took her upper arms gently in his big, warm hands. "It's not your fault. People like this, they don't think the same way you and I do. Their brains are wired differently."

The conviction in his words and shown clearly in his eyes didn't do anything to assuage her feelings of guilt. Had she wronged this person in some way? Slighted them such that they wanted to scare her or even hurt her?

Rory bit her bottom lip, not willing to put voice to the uncertainties swirling around inside her.

"I can catch this guy, but I need your help. Will you help me, Rory?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to gather a little of the strength that had deserted her upon seeing another letter. Jermaine's thumbs rubbed back and forth against her suit jacket, seemingly unfazed by her hesitation. If he was trying to hypnotise her into assisting with analyzing the letter, it was working.

Finally, she nodded. "Ok. I'll try."

Rory took a seat at her little conference table and moved aside the piles of newspapers and file folders to make some space to work. Jermaine quickly joined her with the letter in its protective sleeve and his pen and notebook.

At first, she could only stare at the lines of neat printing, breaking out in a cold sweat at the implications she was reading into them. Trying to mentally distance herself only left her more amazed at the distress one sheet of paper could cause. _Words truly are powerful_ , she thought to herself with a wry smile.

"I know it's hard, but just give me your first impression."

Her trembling fingers reached out to straighten the letter's position, lining it up with the pad of paper in front of her. "It's longer than the others."

"I noticed that too." Jermaine cleared his throat and leaned back into his chair. "And considering the timing, I'm guessing that _Madam Secretary_ is Secretary Clinton. You two were both all over the news last week."

Rory shook her head absentmindedly. "No, it was more like two weeks ago."

His eyes narrowed, and he silently started counting off on his fingers. When the answer didn't seem to make sense, wrinkles formed across his forehead.

"What?"

"The postmark was November 4th, so his anger stewed for 10 days or more before he actually sent this."

"So?" She wasn't following his train of thought, but that wasn't surprising considering the inner turmoil she was trying to contain.

"I wouldn't say we're dealing with someone with poor impulse control, if they can wait that long."

Rory wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she turned back to the letter, her finger tracing over the same line again and again.

"This feels different, somehow. Like it doesn't belong."

Jermaine leaned forward, trying to see what she was pointing to. "About the _race of females_? Yeah, that stands out."

"I just don't know what it could mean, though."

He scratched at his chin, contemplating, and then seemingly came to a decision. "I'm starting to think that this is more political than personal."

That brought Rory's head up. "What? Why on earth would you think that?"

"The reference to Clinton, and _sand and oil_? The _race of females shouldering_ the _blame_? It sounds more and more like a conservative nut to me."

"I don't think—"

"Maybe someone who's not happy with the way the country is progressing and has chosen to take it out on you."

She hugged her arms around herself. "But, why me?"

"Because you're a female in an important role. Because you have connections to the President beyond this building and your current appointment. Because you're young and pretty and your face is on TV? Take your pick. Like I said, it's not about you. Not really."

Rory blushed a little as his compliment registered. Still, she didn't quite buy the political angle. The letters had never sounded like this before. And while the tangible details meant it could only have been sent by the same person, the language pointed in a different direction. She got to her feet and started pacing again.

"I would love to believe that it's not really about me. But the letters started coming before I worked here, before I had anything to do with the administration. And this is the first mention of anything current or controversial."

Jermaine just shook his head, rapidly making notes on the pad in front of him. "I'm going to run this by the behaviour analyst we have on staff. Now that the threats are becoming a little more overt, we can probably put some resources to work on your file."

"I still don't think they qualify as threats…"

" _Not a question of if, but when_? He didn't say that for fun, Rory."

She winced a little when his voice raised, and he immediately looked apologetic.

"Sorry. I just want to make sure you understand the seriousness of the situation."

"I do, believe me."

He didn't look convinced.

"I think we should turn the dial up on your security precautions."

Rory's eyebrows raised and she could feel all of her muscles go taut. More security was the last thing she wanted, because it was annoying and restrictive. If she were being honest with herself, and with Jermaine, she would also have to admit that the more "secure" she was, the more she feared the noises in the middle of the night, and the shadows along her route home from the office.

It was that lick of fear that made her sigh in surrender. "What now?"

When Agent Wells looked up from returning the letter to its folder, he was wearing his trademark, persuasive smile. "I would prefer it if you started a schedule of nightly phone check ins."

"Is that really necessary?"

He looked at her hands, and she noticed she was wringing her fingers together.

"Maybe not. But I don't want to take any chances. Like I said before, there's something about this that doesn't feel right."

Rory snorted. "When exactly do letters from stalkers feel _right_?"

"You know what I mean." Jermaine rolled his eyes and slowly grinned. "My spidey sense is tingling. And I know well enough to listen to it."

They stared at each other across the plush carpeting as she weighed the arguments for and against what he was proposing.

"Who would I have to call?"

His grin got wider as it became obvious she was giving in to his request. "The security office here. There's always someone on duty. You just pick a time when you're generally home, say 10:00pm, and the office will know to expect your call before then. If it gets to be 10:00 and you haven't checked in, the office will attempt to call you on your cell. If there's no answer, someone will be dispatched to investigate."

"What if I'm not going to be home by 10:00?"

"You call before then and give a new time that you will be home. And then you call again when you're home and the alarm is engaged."

The formality and rigidness of the system irked her a bit. Rory wasn't used to being accountable for her comings and goings. She hadn't had to answer to anyone for a long time, and it seemed a stretch to think she could accommodate this into her life.

"And what if I'm just late calling in?"

Jermaine's expression grew darker. "Then I'd be very annoyed because we'd worry and deploy someone unnecessarily."

"Right." She measured his face and wondered why she immediately felt bad at the idea of putting him out. "So I guess I'll have to be careful and not be late."

"That would be best, yes." His smile returned quickly and he stood to leave. "I'll get working on this and call the analyst I mentioned. If you think of anything, you've got my number."

Rory nodded, opening the office door for him. "If I think of anything, I'll call." She could feel him looking at her. "I will, Jermaine. I promise."

His hand lingered on her arm as he passed her in the doorway. "Take care, ok?"

Through the open door she could feel Angie's eyes on her, silently assessing how close he was standing and how comfortable he was acting.

"So, thanks for stopping by, Agent Wells."

At her change in tone, he suddenly remembered himself and stood a little straighter. "No problem." Jermaine was all business as he strode out into the hallway.

Both women waited until they knew he was out of earshot, Angie because she was dying to ask about what she'd just seen, and Rory because she was trying to formulate some sort of response to the questions she knew were about to come at her.

After counting to ten, the other woman's mouth dropped open, then quickly shut again as she remembered her position. But the questions still burned in her dark eyes. Rory wanted to laugh it off, but she knew Angie was too shrewd for that to work. Instead, she inclined her head towards her office, inviting her assistant inside.

Angelique hustled around her desk and shut the two of them in the larger office. Once they were both seated, her face took on a bemused expression.

"So nice of the Secret Service to take a personal interest in their work."

Rory suddenly got the impression that her assistant and Grandmother went to the same school of delicate but ruthless interrogation.

"Yes. He was nice enough to come down to discuss something rather than making me go upstairs again."

Angie's smile turned teasing. "Mmmhmm. And what were you two _discussing_? Is it something I should make time for in your calendar?"

"No, no. Just a shared file he wanted my thoughts on." _Right,_ she thought. _Let's stick to the all-business angle._

Her assistant just raised her eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "When I talk to Manny in the OPC, he doesn't hold onto my arm and say 'Take care'."

Rory felt the heat rising to her cheeks. The last thing she wanted was a rumour swirling around the West Wing about her love life. Which was ridiculous, because there was nothing between her and the agent. At all.

"Well, maybe Manny is a germophobe."

Angelique threw her head back and laughed. "Right. And I'm the Queen of Jupiter. My space ship is parked out back."

When sound of her laughter died off, she looked her boss in the eye, trying to tease out the truth.

"I have noticed that you've been in a very good mood the last few days." She picked on a thread at the hem of her skirt, apparently taking time to choose her words carefully. "Should I be sending Agent Wells a thank you note for that?"

Rory rolled her eyes. She was never going to get out of this completely unscathed. Time for some damage control. If there was one thing she'd learned in all her years of reporting on politics, it was that sometimes you had to distract the pack of dogs with a piece of bacon over here so they didn't find the huge pile of sausages over there.

"I have been in a good mood, but it has nothing to do with Agent Wells."

Angie just sat patiently, an expectant look making her eyebrows raise up a little too high on her forehead.

"I've been writing back and forth to an old friend since I started here, and he's going to be in town at the end of the week."

The dark haired woman across from her raised her hand quickly to cover the way her mouth had opened in surprise. Then she grew serious again. " _Friend_ friend, or ex-boyfriend?"

The look on Rory's face was answer enough.

"Interesting. And you've been writing to each other?"

There was a hint of confusion or disbelief in her assistant's voice, and Rory felt compelled to explain.

"He's in publishing, and books and writing have always been our thing. And who doesn't love getting mail?"

Angelique just nodded thoughtfully.

"And we've been talking on the phone, too, and texting—"

She could feel a ramble coming on, but couldn't explain the motivation behind it. There was no need to legitimize how she and Jess communicated. So what if it was a little old fashioned? Personally, she thought it was sweet; romantic, even.

"And he's going to be in D.C. this week?"

Rory nodded. "Yes, on Friday."

"Is he taking you on a date?" Angie's lips turned up in delight at the possibility.

The conversation was veering into distinctly unprofessional territory, and Rory knew it wasn't a good idea to be discussing this with her assistant. They hadn't known each other that long, and she knew better than to confuse the employer/employee dynamic with something resembling friendship. But she hadn't shared the development with anyone else in her life. And as with most exciting news, she really did want to share it.

Rory propped her elbows on her desk and covered her face with her hands. "I'm not sure."

Angie chuckled. "Then let's break it down. Who invited who?"

"He told me that he was going to be in town for a couple of days for work, and suggested we get together to catch up."

"And that's it?"

She looked so disappointed in the explanation that Rory had to smile. "No, that's not it. He was grumbling about a project he had to work on, and I made a recommendation that paid off. So he said he owed me."

Angie still wasn't impressed with the story so Rory pressed on. "To make it up to me, I suggested that he could take me out to dinner while he was here."

Her assistant's eyebrows popped. "You asked _him_ out?"

"I guess so." Rory waived her hand in the air dismissively. "But that doesn't matter. Does it?"

"Well, I don't know your history, so maybe not. Is there anything else?"

"He said he's really looking forward to seeing me. And he picked the restaurant and made a reservation, but he won't tell me where because apparently it's a surprise."

"It's a date."

She was surprised by the conviction in Angie's voice.

"You think?"

"Definitely." The other woman nodded confidently. "You don't surprise a friend with a nice dinner. Not like that."

Rory let herself smile and leaned back in her chair. "Yeah, it feels like a date to me, too."

Angie giggled. "Some people are going to lose out big on this one."

"What?"

"Oh Rory, this is the West Wing. It might as well be a junior high school." She stood and patted her boss' hand. "There's been wild speculation and wagering about how long it would take for you to start dating someone."

"Are you serious?!" Rory stood up so quickly her chair rolled back and bumped loudly into the wall. "People are betting on my social life?"

Angie just shook her head like Rory was a little slow on the uptake. "Of course. People in this building are horrible gossips and apparently need something to fill the hours of boredom. Although I heard most people bet you'd be dating someone from here, so I'm going to really enjoy seeing them eat their words."

"I'm not interested in my private life becoming part of the White House soap opera, thank you."

Her assistant held her hands up. "No, no. I know you told me in confidence, and I won't go blabbing to anyone. My mother raised me right. But it will come out sooner or later."

Rory was still apprehensive, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She had shared her news, and now she had to deal with the consequences, if any.

"So, Agent Wells…" Angie drew out his name like she was savouring a fine wine.

"Is very nice, but I'm not interested."

"Are you sure? I mean, have you _seen_ that man?"

Rory laughed at her assistant's incredulous expression. "Yes, I have eyes. He's attractive. But he's just not for me."

Angie crossed her arms over her chest. "This other guy must be Brad Pitt's gorgeous brother, because honestly, I don't see how you can do better than—"

"I've known _the other guy_ forever. Trust me, no contest."

The other woman looked skeptical, but left their conversation at that. "You have a call from Sky News at 10:00, and then Bethany has 15 minutes at 11:15."

Rory shuffled through the files on her desk. "Did she say what it's about?"

Angie shook her head as she walked towards the door. "No, but when the President's office wants time, I make it happen."

After Angie shut the door, Rory got down to work. As usual, she was totally engrossed when her phone buzzed.

"Yes, Angie?"

"Two minute warning for your meeting with the President's office. And she's meeting you here, by the way."

"Ok, thanks."

Rory quickly closed up the folders on her desk and piled them neatly on the side. She was in the middle of pouring herself another cup of coffee when she heard raised voices out in the reception area. Angie sounded particularly excited about something, which really piqued her interest. As she walked towards the door, Angelique opened it for her guest and Rory instantly understood what the fuss was about.

The President was watching, bemused, as her assistant stumbled over her words and stood in the way of the open door.

"I'm sorry, sir. We were expecting your Secretary. Please, let me get the door for you. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"No, no. That's fine." He smiled graciously, trying to put the woman at ease. "I wasn't expecting to have time to come over myself, but it's nice to stretch my legs when I get the chance."

In her confusion, Angie hadn't noticed that she was still blocking the door, so he just stood to the side and waited for her to calm down. Rory tried to contain her smirk, but she couldn't. The President was one of the nicest, most genuine people she had ever met. He had told her once, before one of their many interviews, that he still wasn't quite used to the reaction people had upon seeing or meeting him.

Rory finally had to step in, as this awkward impasse showed no signs of ending, and the President's time was precious. "Angelique? Could you make me another pot of coffee, please? And hold all my calls."

The woman blinked, broken from her celebrity paralysis. "Oh, of course."

As Angie moved out of the way, Rory and President Obama shared a private smile.

"Please come in, sir. What can I help you with?"

The door closed behind them and he glanced up at the bank of televisions which were always on and showing the highlights of world news. Noticing his slight frown, Rory quickly shut them off with the remote on her desk.

"This isn't really official business. Not Administration business, at least."

She followed his lead and sat down at her desk, clicking off the power to her computer monitor as well so that she could give him her undivided attention.

"I'm intrigued, sir."

The President steepled his fingers, considering his words. "Something was brought to my attention by my Secret Service team this morning. I was surprised and concerned when your name was mentioned."

It was obvious what he was talking about, and Rory's stomach dropped. She had to clear her throat before any sound would come out.

"Oh?"

"I take things of this nature very seriously."

His face was grave, and Rory momentarily wondered if she was about to be fired. She didn't know what she could have done differently, under the circumstances, but that seemed to be where the conversation was headed.

She considered her options, and decided to just be honest and open with him, because he'd been nothing but nice to her during their working relationship.

"I am so sorry for bringing this drama with me. I honestly didn't think it was an issue until the letters started coming again."

He sat back and listened, his poker face encouraging her to keep speaking.

"I promise to do whatever the Secret Service recommends, and I'll cooperate with the investigation in any way I can, sir."

When he still remained silent, Rory started to feel flustered. Her eyes dropped to her desk and she searched for the right thing to say, to save her job and her dignity.

"I really didn't think it was anything serious – just some over-zealous fan with no social skills."

She chanced a glance up at him and found him waiting for her to meet his eyes. And then he smiled and the knot in her stomach unfurled.

"Ms. Gilmore, what exactly did you think I was going to say? Did you really think I'd hold you responsible for what are clearly the actions of a disturbed person? A stranger, no less?"

She sighed gratefully, and took a calming breath. "No, I suppose not, Mr. President."

"I wanted to come over here personally to make sure you were ok, and to offer my support and assistance in any way I can."

"Thank you, sir." She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice, but it was difficult. To think that arguably the most important and busy person in the country, hell, in the world, was taking a minute to check up on her was astounding.

"Agent Wells tells me that you were getting letters while in Atlanta, and that you've received two in your short time here."

"Yes, sir." She nodded, still not believing she was having this conversation.

"He also tells me that he's already beefed up the security in your apartment and has suggested call-ins?"

Rory studiously avoided rolling her eyes at the reminder. "He has, yes."

The President smiled at her mischievously. "It's no secret that I'm not a fan of security, either. Unfortunately, it comes with the territory. And if Agent Wells says this is a serious matter, I have to believe that's true."

She nodded again. "As I said, I'll do whatever is recommended."

"Good, good. Now, as corny as it sounds, I consider everyone in this building to be family, and we take care of each other. I truly believe that."

He leaned forward as he warmed to his topic, and braced his elbows on his knees.

"If things get worse, please know that you can come to Denis, or myself. You're an important part of the team and you're not in this alone. Ok?"

"Ok." Rory found herself fighting back watery eyes as they stood. He offered his hand and they shook briefly. Then he clasped her hand warmly between his own.

"No one gets to hurt someone in my house."

She looked down at their hands and tried a shaky smile. "Thank you, sir."

He opened the door for himself and looked back over his shoulder. "Keep up the good work, Gilmore."

As he left, Angelique gaped at her, but Rory wasn't going to attempt to explain. Instead, she closed the door again and collapsed into her chair. Her mind reeled and she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. In the quiet of her office, her mind was anything but.

 _Did that conversation just happen? Has my caffeine intake finally led to hallucinations? Did I just get the equivalent of a hug from the leader of the free world?!_

Rory laughed to herself at her last thought. She was definitely losing it. Whether it was the late hours, or the partially self-induced stress, or the fact that someone was stalking her, her grip on reality appeared shaky at best. It seemed only natural to reach for her phone at a time like this. There was only one person that could put her crazy thoughts into perspective.

"Hey, Ror. What's up?"

"Jess, you're never going to believe what just happened!"

"You've changed your mind again and want to add more quotes to the list of possibles for my appearances?" he chuckled.

"What? No. No, no. Jess, this isn't—"

"Good, because I'm leaving on Wednesday, and I should probably prepare a little. I thought we decided last night that the readings were _locked down_. Your words, I might add."

She rolled her eyes. "No. Jess, listen. This is nuts. You're never going to believe it."

"Well, if you don't tell me, I definitely won't be able to..."

"Well, if you don't stop teasing me, I can't tell you."

"Then what we have here is a genuine conundrum, Gilmore."

"Jess," she giggled in spite of herself, "if you shut up for a second, I'll be able to tell you."

He gasped in mock outrage. "Is that the kind of language skills they're teaching you on Capitol Hill? I always wondered where my hard-earned tax dollars went…"

"The President just left my office." When there was only silence from his end of the conversation, she was confused. "The President, Jess. Obama himself."

"Yes, I know who he is. But thanks for the recap. And isn't he your boss, sort of? I mean, don't you bump elbows with him at the lunch table and stuff?"

Rory burst out laughing. "NO! I have an in person meeting with him maybe once a month, if I'm lucky. I think I've actually seen him a grand total of 4 times since I started. And by seen, I mean I saw him walking down a hallway surrounded by Secret Service and various other advisors."

"Oh. I didn't realize."

She laughed again, thinking how absurd this whole conversation was. "Did you honestly think he and I just got together to chat about things on a regular basis?"

"Shit, Ror. I don't know. It sounded reasonable in my head."

They laughed together for another few seconds. "So, out with it. Why did the big man come to visit you today?"

"He wanted to check up on me, actually. It was sweet."

"Well, that's nice." Jess sounded suitably impressed. "Why did he think you needed checking up on? Was it just a _Hey, you've been here for a while now. How are you liking the job?_ check up? Or maybe _Did you see that last episode of GoT?_ "

"Har har. No, Jermaine ratted me out. Apparently no one gets to have a secret stalker around the Secret Service." Rory bit her lip when Jess' laughter dried up at the mention of the word 'stalker'.

"Did something else happen?"

His tone gave her pause. She obviously hadn't thought this through. Of course Jess would ask more questions, and be worried, and do all the reasonable things she had been avoiding doing herself.

"Um…"

"Rory. What happened?" He seemed calm, but she could tell he was concerned. She could hear the strain underneath his carefully practiced _laissez faire_.

She sighed. "I got another letter."

His response was a long time in coming. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, I guess. I have to start calling in every night when I get home."

"Do they think it's serious this time?"

Rory blinked against the tears that threatened and tried to downplay the drama for his benefit. "No, not really."

"Then why do you need to call in?"

"Uh, just procedure, I guess."

Jess paused and cleared his throat. "No offense, Ror, but you're a horrible liar."

 _Damn him and his ability to read me_ , she thought. "This one was… different. Than the others, I mean."

"How so?"

"It was longer than usual."

"Ok. And…?"

She knew she was hedging, but she was reluctant to talk about the letters with Jess in any detail. Not because he wouldn't understand, of course, but because she didn't want to bring her drama to his doorstep as she had to the White House.

"And nothing. I think the agent assigned to me is just being overly cautious."

He sighed, and she felt badly about her deception. "Ok, fine. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But you know you _can_ talk to me, right?"

"I know. But it's my mess and I can clean it up myself."

"Alright. For the record though, I've never been afraid to get a little messy. Especially for you."

His sentiment was unexpected and Rory blushed. "Can we please just talk about something else?"

"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, I know you got my last letter. Were you ever planning on responding?"

"We've been talking on the phone so much lately, I figured writing back might seem like overkill."

"Oh. But I like getting your letters." She tried not to let her disappointment show. Their correspondence had become something very dear to her, but maybe he didn't feel the same.

His voice dipped, giving her goosebumps. "And I like writing to you too, Ror. I just didn't want to bother you. You're very important now, or haven't you heard?"

She smiled, realizing that he could completely reverse her downward mood swing with just a few words. "I had heard that somewhere, yes. But so are you. Imagine how important I feel when I receive a personal letter from a famous author?"

"I think you're overstating it just a bit, but I appreciate the thought," Jess chuckled self-consciously.

"So you'll write me back?"

"I will, I promise. Listen, I'm sorry but I've gotta run. Interviews start tomorrow and I've got a truckload of stuff to do before then."

She couldn't stop her face from falling a little, but then remembered that Friday wasn't too far away. "Ok. Well, I guess I'll see you in a few days."

"Yeah, you will." He said it like a promise and her face warmed once again.

"Can't wait. Bye Jess."

She hung up before she could hear his reply and fanned her face with a file folder. If her racing pulse was anything to go by, this thing on Friday was definitely a date.

Four more days to go.


	12. He's An Island

_**A/N: Well, I finally got another chapter done. It's funny how the urge to write comes in waves, and then can disappear completely for ages. This ended up being a long one, and a big glimpse of Jess' life in Philly, so I hope you like it. Reviews, good or bad, are always happily received.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: As always, I don't own GG or any of the recurring characters.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 12 – He's An Island**

Jess' fist pounded heavily on the old, wooden door.

"Chris! Get up you lazy bastard!"

He paused to listen for signs of life and lifted his hand once more. The door swung open before he had a chance to knock again, leaving his arm hanging in mid-air. Chris appeared in the darkened doorway, hair flattened on one side and lines from his pillow streaking across his right cheek. And he clearly wasn't happy to see anyone.

"What!?"

Jess chuckled. "Time to rise and shine, princess. Matt's on his way with coffee and donuts."

"You called me before the caffeine arrived? Have you no decency?!"

His business partner turned and retreated back into the darkened apartment, and Jess followed closely.

"Geez, you stay here two days and it already smells like feet and onions. What did you eat up here last night, anyway?"

Jess held his nose dramatically against the stench, but Chris wasn't impressed. He flipped his middle finger in Jess' general direction before slamming the bathroom door behind himself in protest.

When he heard the shower come on, Jess laughed again and flopped down on the old couch they had left in the upstairs apartment. With a sigh, he checked his phone for at least the fifteenth time that morning - still no text messages.

Not that he was waiting for one, or anything.

He'd left Rory a voicemail the night before, a little concerned after hearing that she'd received another letter from her stalker. But she hadn't called back. He told himself it wasn't a big deal, and it wasn't, really. She was a busy person with an important job, and he had no reason to expect a call back right away. But he had hoped…

Shaking his head, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and surveyed the apartment. Chris' stuff was everywhere. He was only in town for a couple of days, but had managed to spread his mess onto every surface. It had been like this when they lived together, too. He claimed it was a part of his artistic personality, whatever the hell that meant. Jess just called it being a slob.

This morning the coffee table seemed to be ground zero. There were books and newspapers, half-read manuscripts and drafts covered in his green editing pen, and what Jess suspected was a dirty plate wedged into the precarious pile.

Gross.

Right on top, however, was something of interest. Chris' spiral notebook, the one he always carried with him, was just sitting there. Unprotected. Chris never let _any_ one see his notebook, ever. No one got to read his poems until he was completely happy with them. And considering he was a bit of a perfectionist, there were probably lots that were never seen by eyes other than his. He knew he shouldn't, but Jess couldn't help but take a peek. It wasn't snooping if it was just sitting there, right? The book was open already, so he didn't even have to touch it.

Chris' messy handwriting and doodles filled the page, and he had to squint to make anything out in the dim room. He leaned closer to the page, and shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to pull it towards him.

 _Like a cool summer night, she breezes in;_

 _And my lungs strain when there is no air;_

 _My charm makes no dent because_

 _Her steel will is unbreakable._

 _Like a fawn, I stand awkward and shy;_

 _And she is everything I am not._

 _.._

 _Twinkling, she circles the room;_

 _A shooting star too fast to catch and hold._

 _She will leave, spark out again,_

 _And I will be empty without her smile._

 _But wait, her eyes beckon me;_

 _Is something of me worthy of her light?_

 _Her hand is there, but I know it is not real;_

 _.._

 _Mortals cannot touch Gods, not without burning._

 _She holds me firmly, my stomach in freefall,_

 _And then we are flying, higher and still_

 _I cannot believe it._

 _For a brief second, she is mine_

 _And I am hers, too brief;_

 _So high the light scorches me,_

 _Cleanses me until I am whole._

 _.._

 _It hurts, but she is there,_

 _Not caring that I am broken;_

 _So unworthy of all she is._

 _The darkness takes me,_

 _Her voice tamping down my fear;_

 _The breeze is there to carry me,_

 _Away from all I know._

 _I can breathe again._

Jess' blood pounded in his ears, his skin dimpling with goosebumps. Against his better judgement, he reached out and lifted the notebook closer to his face. He was well aware that his partner was a good poet, but this was incredible, even for him. The words were so raw, but elegant too. Jess knew the agony and wonder Chris was describing, had felt it before.

The first time Rory kissed him.

He was still holding the book, staring at the lines that were so much like his own life, when Chris emerged from the back bedroom.

"What the hell, man?" He rushed over and tore the paper from Jess' hand, giving his friend a shove back towards the couch.

"It was sitting out, I swear."

Chris quickly hid the book away in his back pocket and crossed his arms over his chest. "You know I don't let people see my stuff until it's ready. Not even you."

"I get it. I do. But that poem is amazing. It's ready, even if you don't think so."

His friend looked skeptical behind his angry frown.

"You know I don't exaggerate when it comes to writing. It's damn good. And I don't generally like poetry." When Chris didn't budge Jess stepped forward, challenging the other man with his closeness even if the guy was too tall for him to stare down.

"Seriously. It's about her, right? Charlotte?

At the mention of her name Chris' face cracked, and he looked almost embarrassed.

"Of course it is. You think those feelings just normally exist in my head?" He tapped his skull for emphasis and laughed quietly at his own joke.

Jess wasn't about to be redirected, though. "Have you written a lot lately?"

"Yeah, more than usual I guess."

"Good, that's good. I know you said you were feeling stifled in Boston."

Chris scratched the back of his head and took a step away. "Well, now I can't get the words to stop."

"I know. It's like that sometimes. But that's usually when the best stuff comes out."

They both turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"Look, let's just keep this between us, ok? You know how Matt gets when he thinks there's something to publish."

Jess nodded in agreement. "Deal, as long as you keep writing."

The third owner of Truncheon burst into the room, balancing a trio of coffee cups and a grease-stained paper bag. Chris reached to grab one of the cups as it appeared to be leaning enough that it might fall.

"Why don't you ever get one of those cardboard trays?"

"Because then you wouldn't be able to nag me about it."

"And you crave the abuse, we know."

Chris and Jess shared a look over Matt's head. Jess would have kept Chris' confidence regardless, a promise between artists who understood each other. Matt, while a genius editor, didn't think the way they did. Jess approached editing as a way to help writers be the best they could be, but Matt saw it from the other side. He worked to bring pieces to publication, helping a writer produce so that the result could be shared with the world. Not everyone could discern the difference, but he and Chris had always shared a deeper bond because they were together on the opposite side of the equation from Matt.

Matt watched his partners dig into the bag of pastries. "So, another day of _Not-So-Celebrity Apprentice_ , hmm? Can't we just play eenie, meenie, minie, mo and call it a day?"

Jess wanted to voice his contrary opinion, loudly, but his mouth was full of powdered sugar donut. Instead, he settled for a glare.

"Calm down, Kerouac. I'll have you know I enjoyed yesterday, more than I thought I would."

Jess gulped down his mouthful, unable to let that comment go. "Only because you hit on every female we interviewed!"

"Except for that one lady," Chris chuckled. "Of course, she was nearly 60 and offered to bring cookies to the store every week."

Matt spun back to the poet and grinned. "If her cookies were any good, I could probably adjust my target demographic. I'm telling you, we should seriously consider her. Baked goods can make up for a lot of deficiencies!"

Jess rolled his eyes, and headed down the stairs. The other two followed, continuing their discussion about how good the woman's baking would have to be to forget that she had no experience in publishing, and whether Matt would go on a date with her if she brought him a pecan pie.

They had rearranged their office space the day before, pushing two of the desks together to form a sort of conference table. Jess and Chris sat together on the long side, with Matt at the end. It wasn't ideal, they were limited by the tiny space. Their papers from yesterday were still scattered around as they were all too tired after seeing 7 applicants to deal with any cleanup.

"Who's on the chopping block today?" Chris' words were muffled by a cherry danish, but Jess got the general idea.

"Everyone today is local. Couple of recent grads, one finance person, and two with real world experience but little else."

Matt took a sip from his cup and grimaced. He traded drinks with Chris and then let out a satisfied moan as his soy mocha replaced Chris' long espresso. "I don't know how you can drink that battery acid."

"Hey, it's a dark drink to match my dark soul."

Jess chuckled and handed out the stacks of resumes for the day's interviews. The leftovers from the previous day were swept into the shredding bin, their choice for Boston having already been phoned in to the agency.

"Ok, let's see here. First up is… oh COME ON!" Matt spluttered. "You guys really need to come up with better fake names!"

After a quick glance at the top of the pile, Jess shook his head. "Nope, his name really is Henry James."

"So, you're not screwing with me?" He still looked skeptical, and Chris grinned back at him.

"What do you think?"

They eyed each other for a long moment, Matt weighing the possibilities. "Fuck you, you're totally screwing with me."

"Nope. Although that's a really good idea, about the fake names. Next time we have to hire someone, I'm absolutely going to get creative." Chris leaned back and took a long drink of his coffee, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

Matt just rolled his eyes. "Fine. Be a dick. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Jess happily volunteered to go and see if their first appointment had arrived. When the other two got going, they were Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau; hilarious, but insufferable.

At the front, Stephen was unloading a courier box with unnecessary force, smacking the new books onto a display table. Why was everyone so pissy today? Jess shook his head and pulled his phone out to check for messages, again.

Still nothing.

His mood soured a little further, made worse by the passive aggressive sighs Stephen insisted on making. Even though he didn't have the leftover patience for it, Jess decided to tug the tiger's tail.

"Why so violent, Iago?"

The lanky employee uncoiled from his crouch to glower at the question, clearly not getting the reference. "I thought it was just for the Boston store, but rumour has it you're hiring a boss for us here too, and they might just fire and hire to suit whatever corporate plan you've got going on."

"Oh, for god sake…" Jess pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to yell at the kid. "Yes, we're hiring a manager, so that things will run BETTER for all of you. Someone who will do the scheduling, and HR paperwork, and make sure we have important things like change in the till and toilet paper for the bathroom."

Stephen looked down at the floor, deflated. "Oh. Well, that sounds ok, then."

"You think? We have your permission to improve your working conditions?" He knew his level of sarcasm was uncalled for, but so was Stephen's ridiculous accusation.

"Uh, well…"

"Oh look, I'll bet this is interview number one." Jess gestured towards the door as a young man in a bow tie rounded the corner. "Try not to scare him or the other applicants away by being yourself, ok?"

"I'm just saying, some better communication would be a good start..."

He forced himself to ignore the kid's muttering and focus on the work in front of him, in this case a prospective employee that he could only liken to Carleton from _The Fresh Prince_. The guy was carrying a monogrammed, soft sided, leather briefcase for christ sake.

 _Ah hell,_ he thought to himself, _Matt and Chris are going to tear him to ribbons_.

Normally Jess would have been happy to join in the mockery, but they really needed to wrap this up in a bow today. He was headed out on a plane in about 19 hours, and he certainly couldn't count on his partners to hire someone useful.

"Hi, I'm Jess. Jess Mariano." He stuck out his hand and was met with a limp-wristed shake.

"Mr. Mariano, I'm Henry James III."

Jess tried to keep his eye roll internal. "Great to meet you. Matt and Chris are just through here."

He led them through the maze of bookcases and art toward the side of the shop. As they approached the office door, Jess could hear the other two still bickering like old ladies.

"Keaton was a WAY better Bruce Wayne, but Adam West will always be the MAN."

"Get your head out of your ass. West was too fat to fit in the costume!"

Jess cleared his throat. "Uh, guys..."

"And now I suppose you're going to say that Christian Bale was better?"

"Of course he's better. Any halfwit can see that he's the only one to do the role justice."

"Guys?!"

"And don't even get me started on the Joker. Heath Ledger is the shit. Period."

"Oh come ON! You can't get better than Nicholson. Without him, the Joker would just be an afterthought villain."

"But Ledger gave him grit, a real psycho quality."

"Overacting and melodrama!"

"Hey JACKASSES!" Jess felt stupid yelling at his partners in front of the candidate in a sweater vest, but it didn't get the slightest reaction from Matt and Chris. They didn't even look his way as their DC war of words escalated.

"Melodrama?! The guy won an OSCAR for that role. AFTER he died, by the way."

"Yeah yeah, smearing paint on your face doesn't make you a better actor. Just makes you look crazy."

Matt was steaming mad, like a volcano ready to erupt and Chris leaned back and stacked his hands behind his head. He knew just how to push his friend's buttons, and it never failed to produce explosive results.

Jess turned to the man beside him and gave an apologetic shrug. "What can I say? They take superhero interpretations very seriously."

Henry James III was unimpressed, looking down his very long nose at the childish behaviour in front of him. He held up his wrist, checking the time none-too-subtly on what was a very shiny, and probably very expensive watch.

 _Nice graduation present,_ Jess scoffed to himself. _I hope the guy doesn't expect to make a mint here._ Even though he didn't like his attitude, Jess wasn't comfortable with the unprofessional impression Truncheon was making right now.

"You can't be SERIOUS. Anything done before the Dark Knight series is laughable. Do we need to discuss the Val Kilmer and George Clooney years?"

"Oh, don't throw that in my face. Just because Chris Nolan's movies followed a complete dog's breakfast doesn't make them masterpieces! Just better in comparison."

"WHAT?!"

 _Right. Time to end this with the only thing that works._

Jess took a deep breath to try to control his temper, and quietly muttered the 7 words guaranteed to shut this argument down.

"Ben Affleck will be the best Batman."

Instantly, both Chris and Matt shut their traps and swung their heads in unison to look at Jess like he was bat-shit crazy.

"Right. And now that that's over, how about you both say hello to our first interview of the day? This is Henry James."

Jess gestured to the room's odd man out, and the guy cleared his throat haughtily.

"Henry James III."

The stress he placed on his generational title was painfully droll, and more than one of the partners had to bite their cheeks to keep from laughing out loud. Chris was the first to recover, but only just barely.

"Hey man, nice to meet you." He reached out to fist bump the man, but was left with his hand hanging comically in the air.

Matt just cut his losses and nodded in the guy's direction before taking his seat.

Once everyone was settled, Jess shuffled the resumes in front of him and started a new page on his pad of paper.

"Sorry about that. Usually we just settle arguments with whiskey and a game of pool, but it's pre-noon, and _some_ of us have 'rules' about that." Matt aimed his air quotes at Chris, who made a ridiculous face back at his friend.

Jess just shook his head. They were both morons.

He glanced back at the subject of their interview, trying to gauge how badly things were going and found him picking lint off his pants with a holier-than-thou expression on his face. Clearly he was past the point of attempting to be eager about the position.

"Henry, look, before we start, I just have to ask – was someone in the family a literary fan, or...?"

The Third, as he would forever be known in stories from that day forward, pulled a crisp file folder out of his briefcase and adjusted his round glasses.

"Whatever do you mean?"

Chris and Jess shared a sideways glance. "Your name. I guess you get asked about it a lot. I mean, it would be fitting if you ended up working here."

The man just continued to stare at them, unblinking, without a flicker of understanding. Matt finally couldn't take it any longer and sat forward in his chair.

" _Please_ tell me you've read something of his. It would just be too weird if you haven't."

He flicked his eyes between Chris and Matt suspiciously. "Is this some kind of initiation prank? Who are you talking about, exactly?"

"HENRY JAMES!" the three partners exclaimed together.

"Yes, that is my name, although your obsession with it is making me distinctly uncomfortable. Now, if we could get on with the interview, I have an 11:00 meeting for brunch at my father's club."

His disdain was so obvious, it felt like a bad smell in the room. He looked down to pull his resume out of a folder, providing the partners an opportunity to communicate silently. Jess gave Matt his patented ' _Is this guy for real?'_ eyebrow while Chris discreetly muffled his own chuckles.

They went through the motions, but everyone in the room knew that the interview wasn't going anywhere. After 20 minutes, they had learned that The Third generally read only non-fiction, and had only been on his college hockey team's roster because his father made a ridiculously large donation and he got horrible hay fever so couldn't play polo as was the long-standing family tradition. After that last revelation neither Matt nor Jess could keep a straight face, so Chris volunteered to walk The Third back to the front door. He rolled his eyes at his partners while ushering the man out.

After the door closed, and after what he hoped was an appropriate amount of time, Jess let out a cackle.

"Well, that was interesting."

Matt just nodded and let his head hang back in defeat. "I don't even know what to say. I mean, how do people like that make it to adulthood?"

"Lots of daddy's money to catch him when he falls, I presume."

They were both still grumbling when Chris reappeared. He snatched up the three copies of Henry James' resume and tipped them into the shredder with a flourish.

"Buh bye."

"Amen to that!"

"Who's next?"

Jess groaned and rubbed at his eyes. After their recent experience, he didn't even want to look.

"Uh, Ashley Meerk." He scanned the paper in front of him, zeroing in on the last page. "Oh no, it's the cheerleader," he moaned to himself.

That caught Matt's attention and he sat up quickly. "Cheerleader? Is she blonde?"

"What does it matter if she's blonde?"

"Well, I might want to get up and escort her in. You know, if she's blonde…"

Chris cuffed his friend on the back of the head as he took his seat. "Hands off the employees anyway, jackass."

"Well, then we just won't hire her. If she's not an employee, it's no problem for me to take her out on a date." Matt stood and tried to brush the wrinkles out of his shirt.

"This isn't your personal dating service, asshole." Jess was seriously losing his temper. No one seemed to understand how essential it was to pick someone – today! "Need I remind you that we're trying to hire someone to take care of our business, YOUR business? You care about this place, remember?"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Geez, lighten up. I promise to listen to her _very_ carefully." He skillfully dodged the crumpled up ball of paper that came flying at him when he waggled his eyebrows, and ducked out to meet their next appointment.

Chris leaned over while they were alone, lowering his voice. "Hey, you ok?"

"Fresh as a daisy and just as sweet."

His friend's eyes narrowed, assessing Jess' expression. It's not that his standard sarcastic answer wasn't expected. Chris probably would have been more suspicious if he had brushed it off with _I'm fine_. But the man wasn't an idiot. He could tell there was something more going on than Jess' usual dark humour.

In honesty, Jess' mood was tanking. He just wanted to get this done and run home to pack and take care of a million other things before his flight in the morning.

That, and not wonder why he hadn't heard from Rory. He had almost convinced himself that it didn't matter. Almost.

"Look, I know this has been a lot of work, putting all this together. We do appreciate it, no matter how much we're coming off like idiots this morning."

"Ah fuck, it's not that. I'm used to the sideshow that's constantly running around here." Jess sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring how his cell phone dug into his hip.

"Then what flew up your ass and died today?"

Chris was teasing him to get an answer. He could tell by the way his eyes bunched up at the corners, trying not to laugh. But he wasn't going to give up what was bothering him, because he didn't really want to admit it to himself.

"I'm just slammed with work, you know." He shrugged and avoided Chris' eyes. "And I'm leaving tomorrow for this stupid trip at the worst possible time for Truncheon."

"You sure that's it? Usually you're like The Flash when things are busy. Jess over here, editing. Jess over there, copying and doing layout. Jess over there writing cheques and placing orders." Chris' arms swung back and forth, mimicking a running Jess handling everything the business threw his way.

"Yeah, that's it. Just want to get some good, reliable people in these jobs so I can stop worrying about stuff that I'm not good at and never wanted to do in the first place."

Chris nodded thoughtfully. "There's a winner in this pile, I'm sure of it."

Then he tapped the resumes with his knuckles, offering what was probably supposed to be a confident, encouraging smile. The gesture just made Jess' stomach tighten up, however. What if they didn't like anyone from the candidates they'd chosen for interviews? Then what would he do? He certainly couldn't trust Matt with things when Chris headed back to Boston.

When the door opened again, Jess straightened up in his chair. He was more determined than ever to get this done - quickly.

"You've never seen the Liberty Bell? Really? Well, I'd be happy to show it you sometime."

Matt and their newest applicant, who was indeed blonde (although apparently not naturally), came strolling through the door. She was giggling, and he had his hand on her lower back. And Jess saw red. He was up out of his chair before he could stop the impulse.

Chris rose to his feet as well. "What are you doing?" he whispered while trying to keep the polite smile on his face.

Jess grimaced and forced himself to take a breath. "Apparently, I'm saving the cheerleader."

If he had any hope of keeping this interview on track, he needed to convince Matt to get his mitts off the potential employees, especially considering this one looked much younger than their thirtyish years. Luckily clearing his throat was enough to catch Matt's attention, and he didn't have to resort to slapping.

"Hi, I'm Jess, and this is Chris. You must be Ashley. Thanks for coming in today." His plan worked when she walked forward to shake his hand, and Jess just grinned at the murderous glare Matt shot his way.

"This is quite the shop you've got! I don't get downtown too often, but it wasn't hard to find." Her face was animated as she looked around the room, taking in the piles of books and drafts on the floor.

They all took their seats and Jess fought the urge to punch Matt in the kidney. He was openly leering at the poor girl, as if she didn't have a head or a brain in it. He was practically his best friend, but sometimes he was a little much to take, even for Jess.

"Well, we're glad you made it. Let's just jump in, yeah?" Chris flipped her resume over, looking at the education section. "It looks like you graduated from Philly Community College last year with a diploma in Business Admin?"

Ashley nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, that's right. My focus was Public Relations, but there were limited courses available in that area, so I'm looking at other online courses now to supplement my diploma."

Jess let himself relax a tiny bit, happy that she was at least more suited than Henry James III. "And you're currently working for Brownstone Construction?"

She nodded again, her blonde ponytail bobbing up and down. "My Dad's company. It's small and old fashioned but he's doing really well, so he agreed to a little refresh to keep up with the times; new website, new branding, business cards etc. and better, targeted advertising."

"I'll bet you're doing a great job." Matt's voice sounded dreamlike, and Jess gave his shin a discreet kick under the desk, much to Chris' delight.

"That's your focus, then? Advertising and branding?" Jess was genuinely interested, because she sounded passionate about the topic.

"I think that's where I'll end up. A company's image encompasses all of those things, and I'm fascinated by how the customer's impression can affect the business' bottom line."

Chris leaned forward, obviously engaged as well. "Like, how you might alienate customers without knowing it, just by the business name you choose or the way your store looks?"

She grinned and licked her lips. "Exactly. One of the projects I did in school was about a local pizza chain. Through focus groups, our class got the idea that their radio ad was driving customers away because the voiceover sounded a lot like Donald Duck. So they agreed to change the actor but leave everything else the same. Within a month, their business was up 15%."

"Wow. 15%! That's amazing. Great work!" Matt sounded so excited by the news, it was embarrassing, and everyone turned to look at him like he was insane.

A weird silence fell over the room for several, uncomfortable seconds afterwards. Jess wanted to bang his head on the desk in frustration. She could very well be the best fit for the position, but she would probably turn down an employment offer because of the creepy owners.

And then, by some miracle, Ashley laughed. "Um, thanks. It was actually pretty cool to see our ideas work in the real world."

Matt's cheeks flamed, like even he realized how ridiculous he was acting. _About time_ , Jess thought. _The first step is admitting it._ Time to get back on track.

"At your previous jobs, have you ever done any bookkeeping? Payroll, taxes, that kind of thing?"

She shifted awkwardly in her chair, looking down at her nails for a time. "No, math has never been my strong suit. But I'm good with a computer, and I'm sure you do everything through Quickbooks or some other accounting program, right? Shouldn't be too hard to catch on."

Jess' stomach sank. Finance was the biggest part of the position they were trying to fill, and he was absolutely sure someone couldn't fake it till they made it in the job.

Apparently sensing that things were heading downhill, Chris asked a lightweight question, probably hoping to go out on a positive note. "Do you read much? Classics? Poetry? Have a favourite author?"

Ashley smiled her lovely smile again. "I love L.M. Montgomery. I think I've read Anne of Green Gables a hundred times. The whole series is wonderful, really. I'm just as captured by it as an adult as I was when I was 12."

Her wistful voice made even Jess grin wryly. "It's funny how we get something different from great books at different stages in our lives."

"I couldn't agree more."

Everyone again turned to look at Matt. Jess was starting to worry that he'd hit his head or something. The guy never had any game. He and Chris had both witnessed their friend crashing and burning while trying to flirt with girls, but this was a new kind of pathetic.

Chris shook his head, raising his eyebrows as if to say _Sorry, I don't know what's going on with him._ "So, what's your availability like? Full time, flexible for weekends, or…?"

The girl swung her gaze to Chris, studiously avoiding Matt in the centre of the group. "Um, flexible-ish, I guess? If weekends are part of a regular schedule, I don't mind. But I like to know my days off in advance so I can plan things."

"Ok, good to know." He nodded, scratching his ear and flipping her resume over again. "Jess, anything else you want to ask?"

Jess cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. "Any questions for us, Ashley? Anything you want to know about the business?"

He knew that someone who genuinely wanted to work there, who would care about the business like he and his partners did, would have questions: What was their target market? How did they decide what books to stock? Where did they find their authors? How many books a year did they publish? How many employees? How did it work with the other locations? Jess wanted to know that they would be invested in the job, in the company. But so far, no one had asked anything like that.

She fidgeted some more, clearly uncomfortable with the way Matt had been staring at her. "No, I don't think so. You have my cell number and email address if you need to contact me."

"We do." _Damn,_ Jess grumbled to himself _, another one bites the dust._ "Thanks for coming in. I'll see you out, if that's ok."

Ashley looked relieved and gave the other two a little wave before putting her purse back on her shoulder. He let her go first, closing the office door behind him so she wouldn't hear the tongue lashing Matt was certainly about to get from Chris for his behaviour.

As they wove their way back to the front door, Jess made an attempt at small talk.

"So, you said you don't get downtown much. You live out in the suburbs?"

She blushed and pulled her purse strap up a little higher. "Yes, I'm staying with my parents for a bit while my girlfriend and I look for a place in the city."

Jess felt his eyebrows raise in surprise, but he tried to downplay his reaction. That certainly wasn't what he had expected to hear. And she wasn't giving the impression that they were buddies from their cheerleading days.

"Uh, yeah. Finding a place in the city can be hard."

She turned suddenly, and he nearly ran into her.

"It really is! Even more so because Linda has a dog. He's an adorable, sweet puppy, but landlords hear the word _rottweiler_ and immediately tear up our application!"

He blinked in the face of her outburst and Ashley quickly looked down at her feet, embarrassed.

"Sorry. I just… It's looking like we'll never get to move in together. I love her, so I can't really ask her not to bring her dog."

"Yeah, that's rough." Jess sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, one of the guys who used to work here had a big dog...mastiff or something. He found a pet friendly building through this rental agency that specialized in that sort of thing–First Start Properties, I think it's called. First Choice? First Pick? I don't really remember. Maybe see if you can find them?"

Her face lit up, and she started bouncing on her toes, that blonde ponytail swinging around again.

"Thank you! I'll definitely try that!"

Her excitement carried her right out the front door and Jess raised his hand in a wave, but she was already gone.

"Cheerleaders," he muttered under his breath, with an appropriate eye roll.

Everything in the office was quiet as he returned, which was a bad sign under the circumstances. Sure enough, when Jess swung the door open, his two partners were facing away from each other, arms crossed over their chests and sour expressions on their faces. God, they were such children sometimes. Jess had worked hard over the years to repress his snark, the attitude and sharp verbal rebukes that were always bubbling just under the surface. But today, he wasn't even going to try.

"Oh no. Did someone steal someone else's My Little Pony?"

When they both turned their glares on him, his smirk kicked up at the side.

"Don't make me put you in time outs. Just hug and make out, ok? Sorry!" He threw his hands up in the air when Chris made to lunge out of his chair. "Make UP. I meant make up."

Matt just huffed and adjusted his slouch. When his chair squeaked, Chris rolled his eyes like it was the most annoying sound in the world.

"Look, quit acting like fucking babies, alright? Our next appointment is here in less than 10 minutes. Could we maybe just ACT like we're business owners that have our shit together?"

It took another moment of glaring, but Chris finally relented. "Fine. I never thought I'd be happy to get back to Boston, but JESUS."

"Yeah, well, with you gone, maybe people will actually NOTICE that I exist."

Jess' eyes popped at Matt's harsh tone. "I'm sorry, what?!"

The shorter man leaned up out of his chair and started pacing the room, giving the metal garbage can a good kick with his toe on the way by.

"What the hell are you on about, Matty?" The nickname earned Chris another dirty look from his partner.

"You know what I mean! With you, Mr. Tall, Dark and Poetic, and brooding James Dean Hemingway Jr. over here," Matt jabbed a stern finger in Jess' direction, "no one of the fairer sex even gives me a second glance!"

There was a beat of silence where both Chris and Jess stared at their friend like he'd lost his mind, or grown a second head. Jess honestly didn't think his own eyebrows could go up any further on his forehead. And then he remembered his conversation with Ashley and started to laugh at how absurd the situation was. He laughed until his stomach hurt and he had to bend over and support himself with his hands on his knees.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

Jess couldn't answer, could barely take a breath doubled over as he was. Matt's anger and disbelief just made him laugh all the more. His eyes started to water, and he cheerily wiped at the tears streaking down towards his chin. Soon, Chris started to giggle because laughter is strangely contagious in a group, and also just because the sight of Jess laughing was so unusual.

Finally, the mirth in the room died down to a level where Jess could suck some air into his lungs.

"Oh man, you are such a jackass!" He sniffed and wiped at his cheeks some more, trying to get himself back under control.

"Oh really?! And why would that be, chuckles?" Matt had his hands on his hips, but his face was a classic child's pout, complete with protruding bottom lip.

Jess hugged his arm around his middle, muscles aching from the laughing fit. "Trust me, the cheerleader isn't your type."

"And you just know this because you're such a god damn expert on women, huh?"

"Yeah," he fired back, getting annoyed. "It's a frikkin' miracle, really. Like how I _expertly_ just listened to her instead of staring at her chest, and _expertly_ heard her talking about how she and her _girlfriend_ are having a hard time finding an apartment downtown."

There was a beat of silence before Chris exhaled sharply through his lips, such that if he had been drinking his coffee, they all would have been sprayed.

Matt, bless his heart, still looked confused. "But I don't… How is that…?"

Jess just rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. He loved his friend, but god DAMN he was an idiot sometimes.

Then the words clicked and he fell strongly on the side of denial.

"Nah… That's not possible. I mean, you saw her, right?! And she was interested in me, I could tell."

Chris snorted again, and raised his voice. "Get a clue, man. She doesn't dig the dudes. And trust me, there was nothing even resembling flirting going on in here."

When Matt looked both incredulous and furious, Chris gleefully ticked off the other choices on his fingers.

"Potential sexual harassment? Yes. Prelude to creepy stalking? Yes. Makings of a good SNL skit? Yes. Something that I'm going to be laughing about for years to come? HELL yes. But flirting? Nope. Not even close."

Jess smirked as he lined up the resume for the next candidate on the chopping block. The pile was getting very short. They needed to find someone, ANYone.

He slipped his cell phone out of his pocket while the other two continued to bicker. Still nothing.

 _Damn._ He just couldn't catch a break today.

...

After another horribly fruitless interview with a chronic stoner that supervised the night shift at a convenience store, there was a cancellation, so the guys decided to take a lunch break at the burger place two streets over. As a peace offering they treated Matt to his favourite order of poutine, the mushy gravy-ness something Jess wished never to experience again. And then, under the cloud of a carb-coma, they slowly made their way back to Truncheon.

 _Only 3 more people to see_ , Jess thought to himself despondently. On the one hand, he wished there was an endless supply of people to choose from. But, on the other, that would mean spending more time on interviews, and possibly changing his reading tour schedule.

Neither of those were options, as far as he was concerned.

He tried to push his brain back into the conversation, but the good-natured argument Matt and Chris were continuing didn't really need his input. Chris had just called Matt a low-budget lothario when Stephen knocked softly on the closed office door with his knuckles.

Matt glanced quickly at Jess, wondering why the kid was interrupting their _very_ important, post-lunch, bullshit session. Jess just shrugged.

"Yeah?" he yelled out, both confused and a little annoyed.

The former military man cracked the door open and sheepishly stuck his head in.

"Uh, your next appointment is here."

Matt huffed and checked his phone. "They're 20 minutes early! Tell them to take a seat."

The three partners turned away, intent on restarting their discussion, which had swung onto Chris' pathetic attempts to woo the lovely Charlotte. But before they got back to it, Stephen was hovering in the doorway again. And his attempt at discreetly clearing his throat raised Jess' temperature.

"Was my man not clear?!" Chris' voice betrayed that his patience for the day was at an end.

"Uh, no. No, I heard what you said. I just don't think you understand the situation."

Jess slammed his pen down on the desk. "For fuck's sake, there's a situation?! Why can't the guy just sit and spin until we're ready for him?"

Stephen raised his hands, trying to make peace. "Hey, I hear you. But when someone like that threatens my personal safety, I take them seriously."

"The guy _threatened_ you?!" Chris leaned forward, elbows on the tabletop, skeptical of the employee's claim.

Stephen shuffled his feet and looked at the ground.

"Well shit," Matt started with a laugh. "If this guy put the fear of God into G.I. Joe here, I'm not sure if we should tell him to get lost, or hire him on the spot!"

They all laughed, and Stephen rolled his eyes at their teasing, but he still wouldn't look at them. Jess quirked his eyebrow at that. Something was going on that the kid was purposely avoiding. He watched him a little more closely and noticed a faint blush rise on his cheeks when Matt made another comment about the scary guy waiting out in the store. Yeah, something was definitely amiss here.

"How big is this guy, anyway?" Jess asked seriously. "Can we take him or should we call in Tony from Scarmucci's?"

Tony was the pastry chef at the fancy Italian restaurant on the corner. The 350 pound, 6'4" former defensive tackle from Alabama State made the best cheesecake in town, and had a voracious appetite for books of all sorts. The three partners had known him for years now, and always got pastries for their events from Tony.

Stephen rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. "It's a girl, ok?!"

Matt and Chris both stopped dead at that, but Jess recovered quickly and laughed, surprising everyone including himself.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Stephen blushed again and jammed his hands onto his hips, probably trying to appear tough – at least to himself.

"Your next appointment is a _female_ person, and when I tried to get her to wait, she said something about removing a limb and inserting it someplace even surgery couldn't repair."

He grimaced and Jess saw Chris wince. "And something about her made me believe she would do it."

Jess couldn't help himself. The mental imagery of the kid cowering in front of anyone was just too satisfying. He laughed until his cheeks hurt. Considering his giggle-fit earlier, this was quite possibly the most he'd laughed in years. Matt and Chris joined in as well, albeit with less enthusiasm.

Chris finally took pity on their sad looking employee.

"Ok, Wimpy. I'll go face the big, scary girl. You can duck and cover in the stock room."

He gave Stephen a whack on his shoulder on the way by, leaving Jess and Matt to try to catch their breath before the next interview.

"So, you figure she's an Amazon, or…?"

Jess chuckled again. "Why does your mind automatically go there? Maybe she's a two-toothed, 80-year-old gorgon that would literally eat you for breakfast."

Matt shuddered. "I really need to lay off the Lucky Charms, huh? Stop fattening myself up?"

"Wouldn't be a horrible idea."

Jess shuffled through the last couple of resumes. Their two o'clock was… the boastful reader. Interesting. She liked books and had terrified the so-earnest-he-was-annoying thorn in Jess' side. Maybe the afternoon was looking up.

It was a few minutes before Chris reappeared with their latest candidate. Matt's jaw hit the ground, and even Jess, as jaded as he was, did a double take. She certainly wasn't an old hag, or an Amazon, he though with a wry grin.

No, she was nothing like that. The petite girl (woman?) was no more than five feet tall, but even before she spoke, her presence was larger than life.

She had a sort of post-modern, punk look to her, with the faded band t-shirt, nerd-chic black glasses and suspenders holding up her pinstriped pants. But the comparison to sloppy 80's revival ended there. With long, cherry-red hair, intricate tattoos peeking out all over and sky high heels to contrast her quirky outfit, she was a bombshell.

Jess could almost hear the horn-dog commentary he assumed was going on in Matt's head. And he wasn't far off the mark. The girl was hot – even Jess couldn't deny it.

And she was clearly used to the attention. When Jess and Matt had gaped at her a second too long, she cocked her hip and stuck out her hand confidently.

"Hello, boys. I'm Willow."

She said it like they should already know, like they had been waiting all day for a glimpse, like fans waiting for an autograph at Comic Con.

It was amusing, watching Matt practically trip over himself to shake her hand. She smiled a little too sweetly at him, and it was obvious she had his number already. Luckily, Jess' own life experience allowed him to stay cooler. Beauty alone didn't have that effect on him anymore. He met her gaze and took her small hand in his.

"Hi, I'm Jess Mar—"

"I know who you are," she interrupted, looking annoyed that he had tried to introduce himself.

When curious eyebrows raised around the room, she had the audacity to roll her green eyes at them all.

"You write books. I read books," she bit out as if it was so obvious it was causing her physical pain to explain it.

The lessons Jess' agent had given him on interacting with the public kicked in automatically.

"Oh. Uh, thanks. It's always nice to meet a fan."

"I didn't say I was a fan," she challenged back. "Your books aren't exactly Booker material."

Chris coughed nervously to cover his laughter and Jess recoiled in surprise. He couldn't retreat too far, though, because she still hadn't let go of his hand. And damn him if he didn't start to feel a spark of respect, or admiration, or something.

He smirked at her tone. "Well, then at least we agree on something."

He shook her hand again once and then let it drop.

"Let's all sit down, shall we?"

Even seated, she gave off a confident, powerful vibe; like if Lara Croft was an alternative fashion model. She immediately took control of the interview, as if she was already running the show.

"So. I'm sure you want to know about my experience."

Chris shuffled through the resumes in front of him, clearly flustered by Willow's directness. Matt looked like he couldn't even meet her eyes, instead focusing somewhere over her left shoulder. Jess found it all highly amusing, until her gaze swung his way. He felt like she was looking right into him, learning what made him tick just by studying his face.

He cleared his throat, attempting to break the spell she'd woven over the room.

"You're managing a record store right now?"

"Yes."

His finger clenched briefly around his pen, annoyed by the one-word answer. "But you want to leave there?"

"Obviously."

He gave her a pointed look but she simply sighed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I think I've done about as much as I can with it."

"You have?"

"Yes."

He bit down his frustration, trying not to let her see that she was winning this contest of wills.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Well, it's turning a sizeable profit now, whereas when they hired me it was circling the toilet bowl. So yeah, I'd say I've done my best."

"And your duties were…?"

"Managing." She tacked on a " _duh"_ with her tone, that they all heard loud and clear.

"Humour me." He raised an eyebrow at her cheeky eye roll.

" _Managing_ : hiring, firing, scheduling, bookkeeping, advertising, ordering..."

Her head tilted with each item, like she was singing a children's song to a room of simpletons.

"Office equipment, building maintenance, talking to the landlord, janitorial services…"

And with every word, Jess became more impressed and even more annoyed than he was before.

"Meeting bigwigs, artist appearances, public relations, event coordination," she paused to take a dramatic breath in, like the list had exhausted her oxygen.

"Your basic handholding and keeping the place running, in a nutshell."

A quick glance down the table showed his partners were completely enamoured with her. Chris had a stupid grin on his face, and Matt looked like he was having a very inappropriate day dream about the redhead. Jess couldn't figure out if she was arrogant, or just incredibly self-assured. Either way, at least it seemed like she might be able to do the job.

"I see. And you worked as a personal assistant, right?"

Her lips quirked. "Yes, to Judith Emory."

Matt coughed suddenly, like he'd forgotten how to swallow. "THE Judith Emory?!" he croaked.

"Of course." Her voice was whiskey smooth, and she was clearly pleased at his reaction.

Jess let his mind chew on her revelation quietly, but Chris drew a blank on the name.

"Emory? Should I know who that is?"

Matt rolled his eyes. "She's an editor. Scratch that – she's THE editor. She's worked for all the big firms, been around for what – 40 years?"

He looked to Jess for confirmation, and he just nodded in agreement at his friend, feeling more impressed by the second.

"She's had a hand in two National Book Awards, 3 Bookers, a couple of Pulitzers and a finalist for the Nobel- _effing_ -Prize for Literature." Matt's voice rose steadily as he listed off the woman's accomplishments.

Jess sat forward, interested. "And just how did you come to work for someone like that?"

"She gave a guest lecture at La Salle, and we got to talking afterwards." Willow shrugged, like the connection was no big deal. "She had some business in the city, but needed someone to organize things for when she would visit. It was a lot of paperwork and scheduling, really."

The three couldn't help but be gobsmacked, but Jess was the best at hiding it.

"It's not like you were helping her with the actual editing though, right?"

Those green eyes flashed at him again and he felt their hot irritation warming his face. "She asked my opinion about a couple of things, yeah. I read a lot of new, urban authors; the angrier the better. She was looking at piecing together an anthology with a 'Classics of the next 100 years' theme for Penguin. We kicked around some things I'd read lately that didn't suck."

She shrugged once more, and Jess felt his fingers clench again. "Ultimately, the project got scrapped before it ever got off the ground."

"So, why do you want to work here?" Chris nearly whispered. His meaning seemed to suggest she'd be lowering herself to take the job, but Jess let the question stand. He really wanted to know the answer, even if he didn't agree that their business was so unworthy.

"I've read your online stuff. It wasn't horrible, but there was lots of room for improvement." She caught Jess' eyes and shrugged, like she knew it annoyed him. "I know the business, more or less, and my skills are something you seem to desperately need."

Willow fixed each of them with a look that reeked of confidence. "In short, I can whip this place into shape."

As he watched his friends stupidly blink at her statement, Jess felt himself getting hot under the collar. Who did she think she was? There was no way he would hire someone with that kind of attitude. She may think she could do them some sort of favour by deigning to work for them, but he was very sure she wasn't going to get the chance.

"Well, thank you for coming in, Ms. Hart. I think we've heard enough to make a decision."

Jess stood to escort the girl out, with Matt and Chris stumbling to their feet mere seconds later. Neither had anything intelligent to add, beyond gaping mouths and raised eyebrows.

Willow, however, had other ideas.

"Hold on. I have some questions of my own, if you don't mind."

He grinned humourlessly, leaning back against the desk. If she thought he was going to take more disparaging questions about Truncheon lying down, she was sorely mistaken.

"And what would those be?"

"Well, for starters, who's your demographic here? Is it true bibliophiles? Readers of top ten, popular fiction? College kids who need the classics but also some deeper cuts for the literature majors? Your website doesn't really seem to cater to anyone. And the news page hasn't been updated in forever."

Jess felt his frozen smile start to fade.

"And how do you market to your audience? Word of mouth? Do you advertise? Mainstream media or the arts papers and college flyers route? Because honestly, I read a lot, but I'd never heard of you before yesterday. What about publishing? Do you have continuing contracts with one printer, or do you shop around for the best deal depending on the project?"

As she rattled off a dozen more questions that showed she not only knew the industry, but had done her research about Truncheon before arriving for her interview, Jess mentally kicked himself.

 _Be careful what you wish for in the future, Mariano._

He had said he wanted someone that would care about the business, that would be passionate about their little shop and help it grow in ways the three of them didn't have time for anymore. Well, here she was, and she was already a giant pain in his ass.

 _Dammit._

...

After the last applicant was shown the door more than 3 hours later, Jess felt his energy leave right along with them.

"Come on, let's get out of here and have a drink to celebrate having someone to delegate shit to!"

As the constantly restless part of the trio, Chris jumped up to lead the way. "Yes! I need a burger and a beer."

Jess hung back, gathering the scatter of resumes and pushing the desks back to their original position.

"Stop, man. You're letting your latent OCD show. We can do that later. We've been cooped up in here all day."

"Fuck you, too. If I don't clean up, it will still look like this when I get back from my trip."

Matt laughed, leaning back against the door frame. "No it won't! We'll have a manager to do that stuff from now on!"

"I don't know. Are you sure we're making the right choice?" Jess stuffed a draft and some notes in his bag, fiddling with the clasp while he thought out loud. "I mean, I know she seems like the best fit for the position, but there's something about her that just doesn't sit right."

Matt snorted. "No shit. She's moody, she's outspoken, doesn't need approval from anyone, and seems to have a dark, twisted soul. She's the female equivalent of you."

Chris' laughter barked from behind the front desk and Matt ducked as a heavy paperback came winging through the office door at his head.

The bar up the street, that was still not called Cedar Bar Redux, was moderately busy as they walked in. The after-work crowd was just starting to emerge from their cubicles, mostly sitting close to the large screen on the far wall that was showing the Eagles pre-game.

Andrew, the regular weeknight bartender, waved the three over to their regular table, which was decidedly NOT close to the aforementioned screen. Their regular pitcher of local draft and a scotch and water for Jess would no doubt arrive shortly.

Jess pulled out his phone and thumbed the screen again as everyone sat down, no longer surprised at the lack of communication. He was starting to wonder if this 'date', or whatever the hell it was, was such a good idea. The fact that the lack of a call or text could distract him so much wasn't a good sign.

When his drink was placed in front of him, he downed it in two swallows, the smooth burn feeling symbolic in his throat. Around him the room buzzed, Chris and Matt throwing good-natured insults back and forth across the table like hot potatoes. Jess felt curiously detached from the whole scene. As was often the case, he was all up in his head, and there wasn't much that could break him of the pattern.

His partners worked their way through the first pitcher, and the scotch kept showing up at his elbow, so he kept drinking it. Through watery eyes, he checked his phone time and again, losing whatever hope he'd been holding onto that she would call him.

He wasn't mad at Rory. She was under no obligation to call or text him at any particular time. Hell, he'd been incommunicado himself for long stretches when they first dated a million years ago. He understood better than anyone how life and stupidity made it difficult to find the right words, even when you had something to say.

No, what bothered him most was how affected he was by it; by her. He'd been on an even keel for several years, with no particular highs or lows to send him into a tailspin. But within weeks of her appearing back in his life (in his _real_ life), he'd been both on cloud nine, and in some outer ring of hell.

With that thought in mind, he took his empty glass up to the bar, rather than wait for Janine to come by on her next round. Andrew raised his eyebrow at Jess' reappearance in front of him.

"So eager for another one of my drinks that you just couldn't wait?

Jess just shook his head, feeling like a brooding character from one of his novels.

"Uh huh," the older man grunted. "Celebrating or commiserating?"

"Ever known that someone was both your Garden of Hesperides and your Achilles heel at the same time?" Jess felt foolish the minute the words left his brain and came out his mouth.

The bartender stopped wiping the glass in his hands. "Garden of Hesper- _what_?"

"Never mind." Jess chuckled dryly, making the guess that Greek epics weren't on the guy's bedtime reading list.

"Well, I may not know exactly what you're talking about, but I can tell from that look what's eating you."

"Oh yeah?" Jess took his refilled glass, which he noted was mostly water with just a little scotch this time, and threw it back.

"Can't say I've ever seen you moody about a woman before, though."

He watched the ring of condensation bleed out onto the wooden bar top, but stayed quiet. He could feel Andrew's eyes on the top of his head but refused to let him see that he'd guessed just right.

"She's not just anyone, hmm?"

Jess shook his head slightly, sliding the glass forward for another round. It came back again, mostly water, with just a tint of amber liquor.

"Did she break your heart, or the other way around?"

He held the glass up to his lips, hiding his self-deprecating smirk. Oh, if only there was an easy answer to that question.

"Take it from someone who knows. The booze doesn't make you forget. It just makes you beat yourself up a little more violently."

Jess was annoyed at the unsolicited advice. The barman was a good guy, as far as he knew, but Jess didn't talk about his love life, such as it was, to anyone. He smacked his glass down on the bar again, pushing it deliberately back into the glow cast by the illuminated taps.

"I'll have one more."

Andrew was slow to fill it up, and Jess glared when he heard a tinkling from behind the bar.

"I know that's not ice you're putting in my drink."

"You're lucky I'm giving you another at all."

He raised his glare to the older man's face and was confronted with a stubby finger leveled at him. "I ain't mopping you up again at the end of the night. You and me, we're not doing that anymore."

"That was years ago, Andrew." And what do you know? Andrew _had_ seen him moody about a woman before. Same woman as tonight. _Same woman as always_ , Jess mused.

"Doesn't matter. I'm a goddamn elephant when it comes to remembering smart guys that make stupid choices. Now take your soda back to your table like a good boy, and I won't have to tell your friends to take you home early."

Jess silently fumed as the bartender continued to wipe down his glasses, dismissing him by pretending he wasn't there anymore. _Screw him,_ Jess yelled internally. The old man didn't have the right to judge him and the way he dealt with shit. He didn't know Jess' history, didn't know that he had fought, tooth and nail, for every little success he'd had. And he certainly didn't know the long and tragic history of Rory and all that they had done with and to each other.

He turned on his heel to go back to his table, but stopped when he thought he felt his phone buzz. The screen showed he was imagining things, or perhaps hoping a little too hard. All that greeted him was his face reflected in the shiny black surface, mocking him for all his eager excitement.

 _Pathetic._

He glanced over his shoulder and caught Andrew watching him at that exact moment, reminding him a little too much of Luke. He wasn't accustomed to being treated like a surly teenager anymore, but realized that was exactly how he was acting.

He shoved the phone back into his jeans and took a sip of his drink, feeling the ice tap against his lips. Man, he was such a jackass.

Andrew didn't seem too surprised to see his sheepish return.

"Come for another refill, Paris Alexander?"

His comment brought Jess' head up sharply. The barman was still polishing his glasses, but there was a shrewd intelligence in his eyes that Jess hadn't noticed before.

"What? Someone who pours beer and shakes martinis can't read a little Homer every now and then?"

Jess smirked, admitting that he'd definitely got the man all wrong. "I'm sure it comes in handy when dispensing life advice."

Andrew nodded, his eyes betraying his humour. "Especially when suggesting temperance and logic."

"Listen... I'm, uh, I'm sorry. For how I acted. I'm just... not thinking clearly, you know?"

"Only too well." The man kept wiping, hands never pausing in his task. "Is she your Helen?"

He let Jess stew with the question a minute, then asked again. "Is she worth it?"

Jess rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, pretty sure she is."

"Well, then. That's nice." He slowed, switching one glass for another and meeting Jess' eyes. "Make sure _you_ don't get lost."

He slid another glass across the bar and strolled into the storeroom without looking back. Jess noticed that it was another weak scotch and mostly water and he swirled the liquid around before saluting the open doorway and tipping it down his throat.

He really needed to get a hold of himself. They hadn't even seen each other in person yet and he was already a mess. Man, he was such a chick when it came to his feelings about Rory.

Chris and Matt were still nattering at each other when Jess reclaimed his seat. He tried to throw himself back into their conversation, calling Matt a less-educated Howard Wolowitz for all his weak attempts at flirting with their potential employees. As a method of self-distraction, it wasn't bad. But the internal questions and the feeling of kicking himself never really went away.

"Screw you! I haven't lived with my mother for 10 years."

Chris slammed his glass down and hooted with laughter. "Doesn't she still do your laundry when she visits at Christmas?"

Matt glared and poured himself another beer, refusing to answer.

The glass in Jess' hand was empty again, but he amused himself with rolling it around on its wide edge, tilting it almost to the point of tipping over. "Haven't you ever had a girl, Matty?"

"Of course I have. There was Maureen last summer, and Bronwyn two years before that. Hell, I was dating Kristen when we first met."

"Kristen? You mean the dog walker?!" Chris chuckled. "I had forgotten about her. Although I wouldn't call what you were doing 'dating'."

Matt huffed and pushed his glass away. "We went places together and made out. What the fuck would _you_ call it?"

Jess waved his hands, trying to get everyone to calm down. "No, no. I'm not talking about hooking up or going to a movie on a Tuesday night. I mean haven't you ever been in love? Haven't you felt like up was down and your skin was flipped inside out? Like she was everything good AND evil in the universe?"

Chris and Matt both turned to fully face their partner, eyes wide in surprise.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Jess blushed under Chris' scrutiny. "You know what I mean." He looked over his shoulder for the waitress in vain, hoping to ward off their now-inevitable questions. Damn his loose lips when he'd had a few too many.

"Uh uh, no way. You need to explain yourself; because for someone who doesn't like poetry, you're spouting some seriously lyrical shit right now."

Jess just rolled his eyes, trying to downplay his comments. "Ah fuck, I'm half drunk. Don't listen to me. I'm just suffering from reading too many bad authors try to explain love."

Chris shook his head and laughed, seemingly ready to take the decoy words at face value. But Matt wasn't so easily deterred.

"No, I think there's more we need to know here. You've been peculiar for a couple of weeks. Ok, well," he grimaced, "weird, even for you. And now all that crap about love? What the hell is going on with you?"

"Peculiar? Matty, are you using that word-of-the-day toilet paper I got you for your birthday?"

Chris laughed, so Jess got half the reaction he was hoping for. But Matt was seemingly like a bloodhound, now that he had detected a whiff of Jess' weak spot. Even his hated nickname couldn't throw him off the scent.

"Level with us. You're all messed up about a girl, aren't you?"

His partners watched him intently, and Jess worried that his silence was damning, but he really had nothing to say on the matter.

"You ARE!" Chris pointed at Jess' chest, laughing even louder and drawing looks from several nearby tables. "Who is she?"

With nothing else to do but squirm, Jess folded and refolded the paper napkin in front of him. It was nicely mangled when Matt finally put two and two together.

"Fuck me, it's her, isn't it?"

Jess just winced, hearing the accusation in his friend's voice.

"Her, who?" Chris was always a step behind, which Jess adored about him in that moment.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Matt's voice got dangerously quiet. "After all the shit storm last time you saw her? Are you seriously thinking about jumping off that bridge again?"

Chris' eyes flew back and forth, trying to fill in the blanks. "Will someone please tell me who we're talking about?"

Matt shook his head, locking eyes with Jess. "You're a damn fool. You know that, right?"

His partner had a point, Jess considered. After their history, a smart man would run and pretend he never saw her face on the news, never heard her voice or read her words. But when it came to Rory, Jess had proven himself to be a Class A moron time and again. So why stop now?

"Yeah, I know. But I have to know, you know?"

Jess watched as his friend's lips curled into a sad smile, the likes of which he'd never seen on Matt before. "I do, actually. I really do."

...

The trio ordered dinner, burgers of course, and began discussing how it would work with their new employees. They needed contact and payroll information; someone had to show them how to use the register and enter receipts in the system. There were a million to-dos, the irony of which did not escape them, considering they had hired these two to lessen their load as business owners. Soon enough they settled on a plan for Jerome, the new Boston manager, to come to Philly for a week and stay in the upstairs apartment while Chris held down the fort. Matt could then train both of the newbies at the same time. He wasn't thrilled about it, but the thought of spending time with Willow seemed to win him over.

Eventually, despite trying to forget it had ever come up, the conversation turned back to Jess' planned meeting with Rory. Matt had some choice words, but nothing as venomous as what Jess expected. Chris, in the early throes of infatuation and love himself, had of course been all for the date. He remembered the mess Jess had been after their last encounter, but the poet in him believed that true love could actually mend such things.

Jess wasn't foolish enough to think of their past in such terms. She had never used the word love, for instance; he steadfastly refused to consider that 'I might have loved you once' phone conversation. And he had only said it the one time, panicking when faced with her _literally_ running away from him.

Using the excuse of his next-day flight, Jess escaped his friends into the cold, evening streets. The climb up his stairs was almost strenuous, considering how much alcohol he had managed to ingest, no thanks to Andrew's attempt to water things down. He still had to pack the rest of his suitcase, but it didn't seem likely that would happen before he fell face first onto his bed for the night.

He was horizontal in just that position when his phone finally, FINALLY, signaled he had a waiting text message.

 _Rory_: Just taking a quick coffee break–been swamped all day. Hope your interviews went well_

The relief in his chest was instantaneous. She wasn't avoiding him or unintentionally leaving him off her list of priorities. She was just Rory: busy, overworked, but thinking of him nonetheless.

He flopped onto his back and looked at the ceiling, wondering when he'd abandoned his standard operating procedure of never letting anyone get close. There was too much potential for disappointment, as far as he was concerned. He wasn't just an island, as the saying went. He was self-reliant, self-sufficient; hell, he was self-contained. Andrew and Matt's words were still rolling around his brain, along with too much scotch and the tiniest bit of fear and long-forgotten hurt. Of course, he would never admit that last part – not even to himself.

Jess decided he needed to remain just slightly aloof, hold a bit of himself back. It was ridiculous to think that would somehow save him from heartbreak and destruction if everything went south, as it surely would. But it made him feel better to know that he hadn't changed so much. Teenaged Jess was impervious to the dangers that came of needing and wanting others. It was only after he let Rory (and to some extent Luke) into his heart, that he started to get hurt.

 _-Hey, sorry you're so busy. Yeah, interviews were ok.. I think we picked someone._

 _Rory_: Yay for having a manager! Can I call you later, or will you be sleeping?_

Jess sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, but it was already a mess. God, he wanted to talk to her… probably too much.

 _Play it cool, Mariano._ How easily his resolve crumbled when she was offering her sweet voice after a night of whiskey and thinking about her.

 _-My flight is pretty early, but I'll wake up if you call. Sleep is overrated anyway._

He smacked his own forehead in disgust. _Dammit._ If he wanted to kick the habit of wanting to talk to Rory, he was going to have to keep his guard up.

 _Rory_: Only people who get enough sleep say that. TTYL_

Jess fell asleep in that same position, staring at the ceiling, with his phone resting on his chest, just waiting for her to call him back.


End file.
